ARCHIVES: Oh So Real (June 2008)

Yesterday at BT Kids we sang “Oh So Real” for the first time in a long while, and as we were singing the song I remembered this note/journal entry that I wrote maybe six months ago (wow, after checking, it was EXACTLY six months ago!!)… so I searched the ol’ gmail archives and dug it out. I re-read it with a huge geeky smile on my face and thought I’d post it… it doesn’t quite fit into any category neatly, but there's an A-Musings moment with a definite S.O.S. vibe…

My apologies for not using proper capitalization – I do that a lot when I’m just journaling or writing random thoughts to an imaginary third party that didn’t originally intend to be published :-D.

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June 1st, 2008

first of all, let’s talk about how i probably get a better workout during BT Kids worship than i do at the gym. goodness gracious. EVERY song has jumping for, like, 80% of the time - and the other 20% has hand motions. i'm certainly not complaining – the songs are amazing. although if part of it is an attempt to tire the kids out before the lesson... i don't think it's working :-\.

so we're singing "oh so real" and i always get a little bit excited when that song comes on cause it's just a good song and i always enjoy the inner chuckle i have with myself picturing james powell during the "jump to the front" section. james does not play with this song. dancing MUST be done full out. love it. and we get to the "he broke the chains and now i am set free" section of the song, and all of a sudden out of nowhere God just brings back to my memory chain after chain after chain that He's broken in my life. i've actually been worshiping God a lot lately as the Chain Breaker - which, although it is not an official "name of God" in all the names-of-God books and lists... it's certainly one of the "names" that i resonate most with.

which makes me think... i wonder if God had a good chuckle when Moses was like "so... um... what's your name?" i can just picture him chuckling and thinking "how in the WORLD am i going to explain the all-encompassingness (new word) of my name to this human?" I AM was actually a pretty sweet solution to this problem, although it still isn't even CLOSE to showing us the true depth of his "name"… but since we're bound by three dimensions and we use only 1% of our brain capacity i think maybe God had to simplify it a little bit. and even though this might not be theologically sound (or maybe it is), i like to think that God's name is not only "I AM" - as in "i am the essence of being"... but also "I AM..." with the dot-dot-dot. because God is so many things to us at different times in our lives - and it's not just that He possesses those attributes - He is the definition of those attributes! I AM love, I AM comforter, I AM daddy, I AM restorer, I AM chain breaker, I AM teacher, and the list goes on and on and on.

what was i talking about?

oh yeah, today at BT Kids. so God - in the time span that it took me to sing "...broke the chains and now i am set free..." - brought back a flipbook of memories in my mind of so many chains that he has cut off of me, each of which had a flood of memories attached to it. so i'm trying to process all of this in half a second's time, and then the chorus starts up:

oh oh oh oh
he is oh so real

i promise you, i almost burst into tears right there in front of all the kids... right in the middle of the three-claps. HE IS SO REAL!!! it just hit me in a completely new way... God really is real! really! real! i know it sounds like i've completely lost my mind, but it was the most amazing thing. i just wanted to start running around to every kid in that room (and every worker for that matter) and yell "don't you get it??? he's real!!! this is all real!!! God is real!!!" i thought about Job saying "my ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you," and i wondered if maybe he had the same experience... without the three-claps.

i think about so many of us who are true believers in Christ and have surrendered our lives to him... but yet deep down there's this little part of us that wonders "is this really real?" it's not a part that we talk about because we'd be afraid that people would doubt our salvation or WE'D doubt our salvation or that we'd feel like we insulted God or that we'd start re-evaluating our entire lives or ten million other reasons... but it's that little part that makes us question whenever a prayer isn't answered in the way that we wanted it to be answered or when we see pictures of children halfway across the world with their ribs sticking out of their bodies. it's that nagging little thought that - even though we've seen God move time after time after time and he's done countless miracles in our lives - refuses to go away and be silenced. today, mine was silenced. oh, i'm sure it will surface again somewhere along the road since i seem to have a short-term memory sometimes when it comes to the amazing things God has done... but i think that this moment today was enough to hold me for quite a long time.

i’m thinking right now about how i'm a completely different person than i was even just a few months ago. God has moved so dramatically and things in my life have changed so dramatically that i'm now being told by some that i'm too extreme in my pursuit of God and that i need to relax. and i understand - because i was one of those people who used to think and say that about others. but when God has moved in my heart in the way that he has... and it really becomes real to me that he is REAL and that he is ALIVE... nothing matters but pursuing him. God is speaking to me - he's showing me things - he's asking things of me... and it's real.

i know you’re thinking that it’s impossible for me to have thought all of this in an eight-bar phrase – and i’m sure some of it was fleshed out as i sat and thought about it later on – but it was just like a flood of memories all at once. sometimes i just sit and shake my head thinking about where i used to be and where God has brought me from.

i remember being in the stairwell of 163 livingston street maybe three years ago after a transitions meeting on a day when i was literally inches from losing my mind, had nearly jumped out of the 5th floor window and was clinging onto the banister like it was my last hope of salvation. i remember susan pettrey standing there with me as i was shaking from all of the anger and fear and confusion, and i only remember one thing that she said. she said, "amy, is this all real, or isn't it?"... referring to the things of God. and i remembered having absolutely no idea as to the answer to her question, but almost involuntarily yelling "YES!" i couldn’t explain it, i had every reason to believe the opposite, but there was something inside of me that instinctively knew what to say. something inside that knew that if it took my entire life to find Him and if it took sacrificing absolutely everything that i have to get to Him… i had to do it. i had to fight. i had to trust. because even in that moment of absolute pain and confusion – even then - i couldn’t deny that God was real.

three years after the stairwell on the 5th floor… here i am in the basement of 180 livingston street. serving the children, singing at the top of the my lungs with joy absolutely bursting out of me. on fire for Jesus with a laundry list of testimonies of deliverance that would take hours to articulate. and realizing how right i was. He’s not just real... He’s oh, SO real.

Coming Soon...

Stay tuned to FTM for some archived articles that never made it onto the blog, the debut of S.O.S. and the return of A-Musings!

My Kingdom For a Speakon Barrel

I am weird.

I know that most of you are chortling wildly at the immensity of that understatement, but I've recently realized that I take my own strangeness for granted. I think this is because more and more of my friends are simply getting used to the fact that I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal – and because of that, I'm not constantly being reminded of it. Nana, my roommate since 2003, has been almost completely numbed to my insanity… to the point where, if she were to come home and find me standing in the kitchen mooing at the top of my lungs wearing tap shoes, she would simply nod at me on her way to the refrigerator.

This is, of course, an extreme case of desensitization that will probably only be cured by years of psychotherapy – but I'm definitely sensing this kind of trend amongst some of my other close friends as well. It's great, most of the time – as I don't have to answer such questions as, "What's wrong with you?" and "Do I need to call someone?" quite as frequently.

However, there's a down side to this phenomenon of desensitization – and that's the fact that I often fail to remember that there are those individuals out there who are COMPLETE STRANGERS to the realm of AmyLand. I was reminded of this lesson two weeks ago before the last Transitions meeting… which leads us to…

AMY'S GREAT ADVENTURES, EPISODE XXIII: My Kingdom For A Speakon Barrel

I had A Plan.

It was simple, really. I was going to leave work promptly at 5:00 pm, jump on the A train just two quick stops to Jay St/Borough Hall, run upstairs to the 5^th floor of 163 Livingston Street to put my stuff down, take a solid 30 minutes to chill and relax, grab some grub and be ready for worship team rehearsal at 6:00 pm. Simple.

AmyLand Stranger: … okay, sounds good. So what happened next?

AmyLand Veteran: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL.

The first part of The Plan went quite smoothly – I left work right at 5:00 and squeezed myself onto a downtown A train (motto: If You See Something, Then Obviously We Can Fit More People In This Subway Car). I was upstairs at 163 Livingston at around 5:20 and found some of the Transitions leaders already setting up. I happily greeted some of them, and then went over to chat with Dave about the worship songs. However, Dave was in Tech Mode.

Tech Mode (n.):

A frame of mind triggered by an inordinate amount of technology-related work to be done in a very small window of time. A person in this state will be unable to respond to requests, questions or statements (such as "Hi") that are outside of the technological arena, because his/her entire world is made up only of cords, cables and speakers.

editor's note: Anyone who does not understand technology should STEER CLEAR of an individual experiencing Tech Mode, both for his/her own safety and the safety of those around him/her.

Fortunately, having worked in theatrical productions for a number of years, I immediately recognized this syndrome and attempted to steer clear... as my technological IQ is just slightly below that of a doorknob. Because of this, I have a slight case of TechPhobia – so moving away from the situation was definitely the best course of action.

I remembered The Plan, and went to put down my belongings and go grab some food. On my way out, I heard a sound of exasperation coming from the closet, so I peeked my head around. Dave was standing there, cell phone in hand, looking very disgruntled. Before I knew what was happening, the words were out of my mouth:

"Are you okay? Do you need help?"

In case you ever find yourself in this situation, this is the WORST POSSIBLE QUESTION that a technological ninny such as myself can ask someone in Tech Mode. People who have made this mistake in the past have found themselves knee-deep in wires holding a set of completely incomprehensible instructions longer than the US Tax Code. I realized this immediately after asking the question, and briefly considered just turning tail and running before I heard the answer, but I stuck around long enough to hear the response:

"I need… *sigh*… I need a cable! I need to go to Sam Ash to get a cable. No, not Sam Ash. That one by Atlantic… uh, uh, uh… Guitar Center, yeah. Hey – do you drive? You drive. Can you go to Guitar Center for me to get a cable? *hands keys*"

It was at this point that I realized two things. First, I realized that Tech Mode is a very, very serious disease that should immediately and unquestionably be added to the DSM-IV. Second, I realized that poor Dave had absolutely NO IDEA about AmyLand. For those of you who are AGA veterans, you know that the very concept of handing your keys to me IN GENERAL is an invitation for Disaster to come to dinner – let alone asking me to go to a technology store to purchase a technological item that is very important to the success of a major event taking place less than an hour from that moment. However, I knew that this was important and that there wasn't anyone else available at that moment, so I agreed.

I quickly determined that the car idea was not the best course of action – since you'd have a better chance of winning the lottery than finding parking near Atlantic and Flatbush – so I decided to jump on the bus instead. I started getting my stuff together and then asked, "okay, so I just need to buy a cable, right?"

"Okay, so here's what you're gonna do. I'm gonna need an eighth inch to two XRL males, and actually, yeah, can you grab a speakon barrel as well?"

My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. I had no idea what language had just been spoken to me, but it was most certainly not English. I immediately grabbed my cell phone and had that sentence dictated to me (including the spellings of all words, including "and" and "to"). I made Dave PROMISE me that the store employees would know what I was talking about if I blurted out the sentence that was stored in my phone, and that I would not have to answer any clarifying questions. He assured me that everything would be fine (AGA veterans are burying their heads in their hands). So off I went. As I left the church, I walked through the sanctuary where there was a men's health symposium taking place. I felt a bit weird, as the entire building was packed with men and I was just waltzing through, but I was on a Mission so I took it in stride.

I arrived at the Guitar Center after a short bus ride, and immediately proceeded to walk in the OUT door, causing a near-traffic jam to the amusement of the security guard standing by the entrance. Shaking it off, I re-checked my cell phone for the fourteenth time to ensure that my meticulous notes hadn't somehow vanished on the bus (again, AGA veterans are nodding their heads). I proceeded to the counter and was greeted by a friendly customer service representative named Josh. Josh calmly asked if he could help me, and I immediately blurted out something to the effect of "I-DON'T-KNOW-WHAT-I-NEED-BUT-I-WROTE-IT-DOWN-HERE-LOOK-PLEASE-HELP-ME." Josh calmly took the phone and stared at it with a puzzled look on his face. "Um," he said, "… is this for an amplifier?"

All hope was lost. I hadn't the slightest idea what these things were or how to answer his question. I was just about to pick up the phone and call Dave in absolute panic, when another Guitar Center employee walked by (Jeff) and noticed the scene. He immediately recognized the sentence typed out on the phone and told me to follow him. It was then that I realized that I had just asked someone for an audio cable in the Guitar section *sigh*. We moved over to the audio section and Jeff expertly deciphered the hieroglyphics of "eighth-inch cable split to two XLR males." Within minutes, I had the desired product in-hand and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then Jeff noticed the speakon barrel, and gave me a near heart-attack by saying that he wasn't sure that they had that in stock – but was finally able to locate it.

At this point, my spirits began to rise. It was actually possible that I was going to be able to achieve the mission for which I was sent forth with only a minimal amount of chaos. I paid for the products and cheerfully waved to the security guard as I unintentionally exited through the IN door (yes, I'm serious). I walked off to the sound of intense chuckling and jumped on the bus to go back to the church.

Remember the Squawking Sisters from "Subway Pregnancy" (AGA Episode XVI)? For those who aren't aware, the Squawking Sisters were a pair of elderly Chinese women who were having a conversation in Mandarin on the subway, speaking at the speed of sound and using the highest-pitched tones that human ears could possibly hear. Well, I think that they might possibly have met their match. Squawking Sisters, meet Cussout Chicks. As soon as I boarded the bus, I noticed them. They were two women, sitting near the middle of the bus, having an extremely animated discussion about something or someone. But, once again, they were practically screeching and every fifth word was a curse. I think cursing is absolutely vile and it completely rubs me the wrong way whenever I hear it, so I'm trying with EVERYTHING IN ME not to get Highly Upset. The Chicks continued their diatribe and I continued breathing deeply until we reached the church. I practically dove out of the bus, feeling like I needed to immediately scrub my soul with a Brillo pad and just simply irritated that I had to endure that mess for the ten-minute bus ride.

However, I was ELATED to have successfully fulfilled my mission, and confidently strode back into the church… ONCE again walking through the men's health symposium *sigh*. On my way up in the elevator, I started to get a bit nervous. "What if it's the wrong item?," I thought. I reassured myself that the Guitar Center employees were extremely knowledgeable and that Dave's directions were very clear. I told myself that I was just flustered from the Cussout Chicks and from twice crashing the men's health symposium, and that my task was complete.

Or so I thought.

I got back to the 5^th floor and went right up to Dave, who greeted me with gratitude. We opened up the bag and then I saw The Look.

The Look said quite a number of things, all in about .67 nanoseconds, but the basic gist was that this was NOT the correct item and our time crunch was now extremely serious. I was absolutely crestfallen. Dave was very kind, of course, and calmly explained to me that I had purchased a speakon barrel that had a sasjdasjdasd on one end, instead of a jdaasdh2asd. No, he actually used some kind of technological terms, but I hadn't the slightest idea what he was saying. I listened, nodded, even repeated back what was said to me, but all I could think of was "YOU HAVE TO DO ALL OF THAT ALL OVER AGAIN." I could tell that Dave was torn between his need for this item and his not wanting to send me back out again… but Tech Mode won out, and off I went once again.

I'll be honest… at this point, I was Not Happy. I was Not Happy at the Guitar Center employees, I was Not Happy at the Cussout Chicks, and I was Not Happy at the fact that I had chosen to wear boots on that day, of all days, and my feet were beginning to scream at me. And that's when the giant bulletin board attacked me.

See, I had made the egregious mistake of walking out the normal double-door exit from the 5^th floor. I had CLEARLY SEEN that the bulletin board was propped up against those double doors from the outside when I came back into the room. In fact, it didn't even cross my mind that something might be amiss when I tried to exit through the double doors and was met with some resistant. I remembered actually saying, "What is WRONG with these DOORS?" and pushing with all my might. I finally managed to swing the doors open with a shove, and the first thing I saw was the bulletin board start to tumble while Nicole's voice in the background was saying "Don't go that waaaaaaaaaay….."

Desperately trying to save the bulletin board, I did what any other single-brain-celled individual would have done in that situation – I stood there completely motionless and screamed. And as I did so, the bulletin board fell in such a way that the bottom of the bulletin board tilted upward, scraping the entire front of my right calf. Of course, my scream alerted everyone in the outer room to come running and watch me standing there like a stump as the bulletin board ravaged my leg. People were trying to express sympathy (and others were trying to restore the bulletin board), but I was Done. Now I was hobbling from the scrape AND from the pain in my feet from the boots. All I wanted to do was get to the store and get back as quickly as possible. Of course, to do that, where did I need to go? Back through the men's health symposium.

Incidentally, it was this bus ride back to Guitar Center when I decided to vent through Facebook, and threw up a status message that said, "Amy is EXTREMELY displeased with a speakon barrel and a 1/8 inch cable split to 2 XLR males." To which Ricardo helpfully replied, "Try 1/8 inch to (2) RCA, into 1/4 inch adapters, into (2) DI's then XLR to XLR while lifting the ground." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think I did both.

When I got back to the store, the security guard absolutely roared with laughter. He didn't even ask for explanation – I think he just intuitively knew about AmyLand and was just enjoying the experience. I found Jeff and explained the problem using the terms that Dave had explained to me and he understood immediately. "Ohhhhh," he said. "You want THAT kind of speakon barrel. Yeah, we definitely don't have that."

That would have been an AMAZING time for the rapture.

But, no, that was not the moment preordained for Christ's return – so I had to deal with what was in front of me. I begged Jeff to tell me where else I could get this thing, and he pointed me across the street to a store called ProLine. I hobbled across the street, praying what were probably completely incomprehensible prayers without the translating power of the Holy Spirit ("Lord, would you PLEASE let them have the thing with the two things instead of the one thing," etc.). I walked in and almost laughed – this store was the complete opposite of the Guitar Center. The Guitar Center was well-lit and spacious with clearly defined sections. This place looked like someone's garage. It was just this giant jumble of stuff and I was almost certain that SOME kind of illegal activity was probably taking place in a back room somewhere. However, I had no other options but to ask the guy at the counter.

Wouldn't you know it that this guy goes into one of the back rooms and comes out with the exact right item? No bag. No price tag. No label. For all I know, he could have dug it out of his couch cushions. I didn't care. I paid for the item and jumped back on the bus. This time, *I* was the crazy person that other people are probably blogging about right now. I took that infernal item in my hand and I monologued to it for most of the way back to the church ("GOD HELP YOU if you are not the item that I need… you had BETTER be the right one…") I arrived at the church and, for the fourth time, I crossed through the men's health symposium – and this time, people started turning to look. I briefly considered screaming out something like, "IT WAS THE WRONG SPEAKON BARREL, OKAY?!?!?!?!?," but really didn't want for Big Willie to have to escort me off of the premises.

By the time I got back upstairs, the entire worship team was on the stage and we were pretty much ready to start. I went up to Dave, and with my entire sanity and livelihood on the line, I held out the barrel for approval. The smile and nod said it all.

So I supposed all's well that ends well, but there are some DEFINITE lessons learned here. Flee to a neighboring continent when anything remotely connected to Tech Mode comes near. Do something beside remain motionless when a giant bulletin board is falling on you. Never wear boots to a Transitions meeting. And in regards to the AmyLand Desensitization problem… haven't quite figured that one out yet. Nana has always said that I should come with a manual. Perhaps a training course should be offered, or a mentoring program for those who are just starting to come in contact? Something to ponder. But until next time, we remain…

Foolish Things Ministries: Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense In a Neighborhood Near You!

FTM Is Back!

Helloooooo everyone!

It is with great pleasure and anticipation that I am re-launching Foolish Things Ministries!

For those of you who are joining us for the first time, let me just take a moment to explain to you what in the world is going on here. Foolish Things Ministry is - in essence - a blog. But it's so much more!

FTM (Foolish Things Ministries) was birthed on a blustery September day twenty-eight years ago, when I came into this world. Since that moment, I have been blessed with a unique ability to get myself into unbelievable situations that would never happen to anyone else. My job, as president, founder and C.E.O. of FTM, is to write them down and share them with the world so that the world can laugh. That's why our motto is "Our Embarrassment Is Your Entertainment."

FTM began with a series called Amy's Great Adventures (AGA) back in the year 2001. You can find all of the old AGA episodes in the archives, so that you can catch up on any of the episodes you've missed. We then developed a segment called A-Musings in 2006, which is basically just a smorgasbord of really random thoughts. We were going to called Things That We Think When We're Supposed To Be Doing Something Else, but we thought it was too long. So A-Musings it is.

We are also VERY excited to have recently merged with S.O.S., Inc (Stomp on Satan). SOS postings have been a part of FTM for a couple of years now (see Episode Guide) but will be much more prominently featured in late 2008 and 2009. These postings are the more "serious" side of FTM - but certainly adhere to our mission statement of proving the legitimacy of 1 Corinthians 1:27.

We at FTM LOVE to hear from our readers, so if you read a post, please feel free to leave a comment (just click on "comments") or drop us an email at foolishthingsministries@gmail.com.

SO HOW DOES THIS WORK?

• Immediately below this post is an Episode Guide. You can take a look through this guide to find an episode that you find intriguing - or you could just start at the bottom and work your way to the top in chronological order. There is a new AGA episode posted right after the Episode Guide.
  
• Each episode has a label to let you know what kind of episode it is. These labels are located at the end of each blog and also on the right hand side of the FTM home page. If you click on the label, it will take you to only those episodes that fit the label. Here's the key:

AGA - Amy's Great Adventure (a crazy story of something that would ONLY happen to me)
AMU - A-Musings (random thoughts that don't necessarily involve a story)
INFO - Information on Foolish Things Ministries, the blog, etc.
SOS - Stomp on Satan (thoughts on Christianity, faith, etc.)

• Once you've read an episode, please post a comment! Feel free to email us at foolishthingsministries@gmail.com if you have questions, comments or suggestions.

Happy reading!

FTM Episode Guide

If you're new to FTM and not sure which episodes to check out, here's a handy episode guide (from most recent to oldest) so that you can figure out where to begin!

Crabbs and Coat Hangers

After a two-and-a-half year hiatus, FTM is back! This AGA features a near-fiasco involving Jason Crabb, reggaeton, a near arrest and a good old-fashioned coat hanger. Welcome back!

Of Mice (and Roaches) and Men

This AGA episode features Stan the Roach and Norm & Babycakes the Mice (three unforgettable characters) and draws some conclusions about the origins of these type of creatures. Bonus feature: an interpretation of Adam and Eve’s first encounter with a roach.

A-Musings II: Gotta Go to God’s

A-Musings continues with some thoughts on spiritual gifts as well as FTM’s first short skit that puts a twist on a familiar passage of Scripture…

A-Musings I: Reject Demons and Ram Rights

The introduction to the A-Musings segment begins here with some discourse about “mailer-daemon,” as well as a plea for awareness and respect to an oft-forgotten Biblical character…

Putting My Best Foot Forward

Another favorite, this FTM features New Jersey – which should be enough said right there. This ironic tale features Min, directional miscues and a pair of shoes unlike any other…

Thanks, BRIAN.

The brief story of how FTM became famous through the unlikely agent of Pastor Brian Pettrey, as well as some tips and tricks about navigating through FTM.

Intro, yo.

A short AGA designed to introduce the reader to the types of things that AGAs entail – insanity and a shortage of common sense!...

If You’re New…

If you’re an FTM first-timer, check out this brief blog for a history of FTM before delving into the archives!

The Keys to Success

To this day, I still don’t know how on earth this happened. Car towage, key lockage and a host of other misfortunes await!...

The Anti-Ghetto

Possibly my personal favorite AGA, this story involves a WHOLE lot of misfortune coupled with a lack of common sense and a small dose of healthy sarcasm. A full-fledged AGA that could ONLY happen to yours truly…

Shower Power

Find out what happens when you pray, “Lord, give me someone to share the gospel with today.” You just might end up in an unexpected situation, much to the amusement of your roommates…

Are You From… Where?

Although technically still an AGA, this is really a testimony and an exhortation to those who are a bit tentative about sharing the gospel – if you’ve ever felt nervous or intimidated by the idea of witnessing for the Lord, this one’s for you…

I’m NOT an Alcoholic…

This adventurette shows what happens when Amy decides to take a stand for her beliefs at the end of her New York City Teaching Fellows summer training… with hilarious and unintended results.

Under the Influence

This AGA episode features the first hints of SOS, Inc in the form of an actual testimony, combined with the hilarious hijinks involved in Amy’s first surgical experience…

(Un)Noticed

Many famous AGA terms and characters (Double Black Diamond Neighborhood, Needle-Flick Nurse) come from this diverse episode that takes us from the streets of Crown Heights to a Manhattan doctor’s office and ends with an unforgettable subway experience…

Subway Pregnancy

Want to know what it’s like to be called pregnant on board a crowded Q train? Check out this episode – the damage control attempts alone are worth the read…

The Slam Heard Round The World

A personal favorite Adventure, this episode shows what happens when an attempt to avoid Car Door Shock goes drastically wrong in the parking lot of a Stop N Shop…

Cross Eyed

The original AGA episode! With alarming parallel’s to the 2008 Transitions Retreat, read about how an unsuspecting alto got decked in the face with a large wooden cross before a gospel concert…

Crabbs and Coat Hangers

I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again.

Please don’t EVER think that a lack of AGA postings somehow indicates a lack of AGA in general. To think that my loyal constituency would dare to even CONSIDER the possibility that I no longer get myself into bizarre situations simply breaks my heart. For example, just in the past MONTH I have managed to:

• Leave four different items (at different times) at the Brooklyn Tabernacle and having to make four different return trips to collect said items.
• Break my cell phone after rolling over on it in my sleep. This is after months of dropping my cell phone almost daily with no problems.
• Have a completely unexplainable allergic reaction in the middle of an open mic session.
• Hurt myself in the following ways: doing a wheelbarrow race during BT Kids, pushing a virtually weightless bag trying to pretend it was heavy (also during BT Kids), scraping the entire front of my right shin after knocking over the Transitions bulletin board and trying to keep it from falling…

I think you get the idea.

However, I think there is one that absolutely takes the cake in terms of foolishness over the past few months, and I am pleased to bring it to you here. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you…. AMY’S GREAT ADVENTURES!!!

Amy's Great Adventures, Episode XXXI: Crabbs and Coat Hangers

It saddens me to pen this AGA episode, as one of its chief players has since passed on. She has been a beacon to the FTM community and has made appearances in just about every single Adventure. Things started looking grim over this past summer, and it just seemed like her time. After much prayer and counsel, I made the decision to let her go on to that great auto shop in the sky. Of course, there was also the fact that the Department of Motor Vehicles actually made it ILLEGAL for her to continue to occupy New York State roadways.

This AGA episode is hereby dedicated to Elmindreda, affectionately known as “Min,” the best 1997 Chevy Lumina that a girl could have ever wanted.

Rest in pieces, Min.

It was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon in mid-August as I cruised along Flatbush Avenue. Of course, by “cruised” I mean “stood still in the middle of traffic.” No one actually “cruises” on Flatbush Avenue unless they are traveling at 3:45 am or unless they are driving a dollar van (which, by definition, means that absolutely nothing can get in the way of cruisage – including traffic lights, other vehicles, police officers, pedestrians, etc.).

On this particular day, however, the fact that I was moving slower than mold didn’t bother me a bit. I was happily ensconced in my world of Steven Curtis Chapman, blasting “Magnificent Obsession” at full volume and having my own private jam session complete with steering wheel poundage and the occasional squeal of delight during a particularly effective key change. When the song finished, it randomly selected Jason Crabb’s “I’d Rather Have Jesus,” which almost caused an accident right then and there. This dude can sing his face off, and I have a particular affinity for his version of this song. Traffic finally came alive and I managed to turn off of Flatbush onto Pacific Street where parking spots were in abundance. I was Happy. Jason Crabb, no trouble with parking, no longer on Flatbush Avenue, fellowship to look forward to that evening… smooth sailing.

As those who have heard Jason’s Crabb’s “I’d Rather Have Jesus” are WELL aware, this is not a song that you just turn off midway through. So I put the car in park and blissfully belted my way through the rest of the song. When the song was over, I gently reached down to unplug my iPod (still in a state of worship) and accidentally hit the radio scan button. The radio scan, of course, immediately jumped to 92.7 FM – which, according to the website, is apparently New York’s Official Reggaeton Station. The volume was already cranked, so I was instantaneously blasted with a thousand decibels of unholiness. Couldn’t tell you what words they were actually saying, but I think I got the gist of what they were getting at, and it wasn’t “I’d rather have Jesus” to say the least.

Of course, this coming RIGHT after Jason’s soothing vocal was a bit jarring to say the least – I completely spazzed out and send the iPod flying as well as my cell phone. Once I managed to get the radio off, however, I realized the humor of the situation. “I’d rather…. have Jesus… than aaaaaaanything… this world… affords… BUM BAH-PAH BUM BAH BUM BAH-PAH BUM BAH.” Still chuckling, I started to check the car to make sure that I had collected the flying items. Cell phone, check. iPod and cable, check. I started to get out of the car and was about to shut the door when I immediately stopped – the windows! WHEW, praise the Lord. I had left all of the windows wide open and all of the doors unlocked – on Pacific Street! I might as well have put up a sign inviting someone to steal my car. I put my bags down next to the car, and then climbed back into the car and methodically locked each door and shut each window one by one, leaving only a small crack open so that I wouldn’t have to endure volcanic heat when I came back to the car in a couple of hours. For those of you who are thinking why I had to do this for each individual door/window rather than just push a button… you obviously have never met my car.

Still chuckling over the Jason Crabb/reggaeton episode, I climbed out of the car one more time, shut the door and started to gather my bags. It was around this time that I started to hear this low rumbling sound, but didn’t really think too much of it as I was trying to figure out the best way to carry all of my bags back to the house. I finally got myself adjusted and swung my purse over my shoulder… and then I noticed an ABSENCE of sound. I didn’t hear my keys jingling.

Aw, man.

Being that I lock my keys in my car on a weekly basis, I decided to buy one of those metallic boxes that you stick underneath the car in order to hold a spare car door key. “No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just get the key from underneath the car.” I bent down to get the box from underneath the car and I started to hear that rumbling sound a little stronger. It was then that I realized that I had locked my keys in the car… with the car still RUNNING.

How on EARTH did I manage to do that? Well, it’s really Jason Crabb’s fault. I never park the car without turning off the car – but I had to in this case because I needed the car to run to keep the music going. Then I got completely distracted by the unholiness blasting at me through the radio, the collection of splayed items, the doors and windows… somehow the actual turning off of the car and removal of keys didn’t quite make it on the list. Plus, it was right near Flatbush Avenue so the sound of the car running was completely drowned out by the sound of car horns.

Now I’m really laughing, and starting to praise Jesus for the little metallic box. Could you IMAGINE if I had locked my keys in my car with the car running and had no way to get in the car? Oh, man. What a DISASTER that would be!

*Sigh.*

I went back under the car to get the little metallic box and was having a bit of trouble locating it. I checked the front, back, front again… nothing. And then I screamed, out loud, on Pacific Street.

Todd had the little metallic box.

Why did Todd have the little metallic box? Because the weekend before, I had gone to Denver and had left Min’s spare keys with Todd. Incidentally, just in case you need further proof that AGAs are happening constantly – I actually went to Denver WITH the spare keys, meaning that the car was parked in Sunset Park with no way to move it (which is towing just WAITING to happen)… which meant that I had to actually overnight the keys back to Brooklyn. And, if you’d like to complete this lovely circle of vehicular nightmaredom, the PREVIOUS time I was in Denver, my car actually did get towed because someone who shall remain nameless parked her in front of someone’s driveway.

Getting back to Pacific Street, I now have to call Todd to ask him to bring the keys over so that I can get into my car. I can’t leave the car because it’s RUNNING and anyone willing to break a window would be able to happily drive away. I actually considered just waiting for the car to run out of gas… before I realized that I had JUST gotten gas on the way home. If you haven’t yet read “Amy’s Law” in the archived episode, “The Keys To Success,” you can probably at least infer what it entails.

So a quick phone call to Todd was in order – but I didn’t even get to the second ring before I let out my second outraged shriek in the middle of Pacific Street. I knew where Todd was, and it wasn’t in Brooklyn. It wasn’t in Manhattan. It was in UPSTATE NEW YORK.

At that point, I just called Nana. Nana is extremely helpful in AGA situations, having been a veteran recipient of many calls explaining what inane situation I’ve managed to climb into THIS time. Over time, Nana has developed a time-honored system that she employs whenever AGA strikes that consists of two simple, specific steps.

1. Listen until she understands what’s happened.
2. Laugh hysterically.

“Hi Nana. I’m outside, and I’ve locked my keys in my car and the car is running and I don’t have the spare because Todd has it and he’s upstate and Jason Crabb... hello?”

At this point, desperation had sunk in. I considered just breaking the window, but at that point there was no WAY that I could afford a replacement – and with my luck, a cop would be turning the corner and immediately arrest me as a suspected car thief (AGA veterans are nodding their heads in agreement). I told Nana to come down and to bring a wire clothes hanger. I’d like to take this moment to point out the fact that when I got out of the car the first time, ALL FOUR DOORS WERE UNLOCKED and ALL FOUR WINDOWS WERE OPENED. If I had realized that I didn’t have the keys just 60 seconds earlier, I would have been completely fine. But nooooo, I had to take the time to meticulously lock each and every door and roll up each and every window… and THEN notice the problem.

Nana came down, turned the corner, and immediately burst out laughing to the point where she actually had to stop walking and bend over. Once she finally composed herself, we got things started with the coat hanger. I was a decent physics student, so I was carefully contemplating angles and leverage when another car drove past and parked right in front of mine. A large man got out of the car and walked right over to us to ask what we were doing. At this point, Nana is practically in convulsions. Visions of undercover cops were dancing in my head, so I quickly tried to explain what was going on and that I was NOT a criminal and I was NOT breaking into my car and would he like to see my license and registration??? The man was actually quite helpful and tried to have a go at the clothes hanger himself. Eventually he gave up and advised us to call the fire department. Apparently they can unlock cars… who knew.

I am so proud to be able to say that after about 20 minutes of mental and physical anguish and extreme mutilation of an innocent coat hanger… I managed to unlock my door. I seriously can’t think of a moment when I was prouder of myself. Graduating from NYU summa cum laude… MYP of the ECAC volleyball championships… nope. Prying open my car door with a jacked up coat hanger? That’s what’s up. For the third time that day, I let out a war cry on Pacific Street accompanied by a victory dance that probably will never again be equaled in terms of ferocity. Nana had to be physically scraped off of the sidewalk.

Moral of the story? Consider two metallic boxes holding spare keys to put under your car. Block 92.7 FM from your car’s radio scan. And above all else, never listen to Jason Crabb while operating heavy machinery.

Until next time, we are….

Foolish Things Ministries: Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense In a Neighborhood Near You!

Of Mice (and Roaches) And Men

I had no idea that roaches could tell time.

I can't say I'm surprised, of course. As in my recent epiphany about mailer-daemons (mailer-daemi?), I'm well aware of the organizational capabilities of the powers of darkness. I'm just saying that I much preferred dwelling in blissful ignorance.

Here at 202 Flatbush, we have a resident roach named Stan. He works alone, fortunately, and seems to reside only in our bathroom... and none of my roommates have seen him for weeks now. I, on the other hand, have seen him three times this week alone. Normally I would consider the possibility that Stan was a figment of my imagination, or part of a very vivid dream. However, the last time that I saw him the door jamb got in the way of my rapidly flailing limbs and left me with a very tangible piece of evidence to the contrary (in the form of a colorful bruise on my left forearm). Upon further investigation, I realized that the reason why my roommates have probably not encountered Stan recently is that I've only seen him between midnight and 1:00 am, when my roommates are asleep. Why is it that Stan chooses to manifest only between these hours? I can't imagine. Frankly, I'd rather not imagine. All I know is that in the nanoseconds between making visual contact with Stan and creating an Amy-shaped hole in the bathroom door... I can see the plotting in his roachy eyes.

Do roaches have eyes? *pause for thought*

Even if they didn't, and the alleged "plotting" that I saw in Stan's eyes was actually a well-placed speck of dirt, that does NOT dissuade me from believing that these midnight appearances are more than mere coincidence. Stan is not the only Creature of Darkness that has invaded our domain-- several months ago there was Norm and Babycakes and several of their minions.

What NOT To Say When A Friend Text Messages You, Panic-Stricken, Because A Mouse Has Just Run Out of Her Closet at Midnight And She Tells You She Is Standing On Her Bed Armed With Only a Flashlight

(these were actual responses given)

• Just pray him out.
• Well, coax him into a corner and catch him. Do you have any Tupperware?
• HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I do love my friends dearly, but there was some serious ball droppage here.

Regardless, there was a very obvious pattern of calculation in Norm's maneuvers from the very beginning. There was "Just Disgust" (appearing for the first time on TOP of our kitchen counter), "Element of Surprise" (sending two cronies to get caught in a glue trap and somehow sliding said trap so that it would be within inches of Amy's feet when she sat down at the computer) and, of course, "The Decoy" (allowing a compadre with similar coloring to get caught, making us think that the nightmare was over). "The Decoy" failed miserably however... Norm was a dark-skinned rodent, and his poorly chosen decoy was clearly mulatto.

Even though that particular tactic failed, the war waged on for weeks and caused irreperable psychological damage. I could just see Norm sitting at his Mac somewhere behind the walls of our living room, receiving updates from Personnel and checking his Human Distress Meter before a debriefing with the infantry.

See, this is just one more reason why I believe that there are some creatures that fall outside of God's original plan for the earth. Think about other creatures that might end up inside an apartment. Take flies, for example. What do they do when they find themselves indoors? Either head immediately for the nearest lamp and scald themselves to death, or attempt to fly out a closed window over and over again until they knock themselves unconscious (or are helped along by a flyswatter or, depending on the patience level of the homeowner, an unabridged dictionary). CLEARLY no intelligence is involved here. But roaches? Rodents? They bide their time... wait for the proper moment... and then strike. They must be receiving their orders from SOMEwhere.

Which is why I believe that, rather than having been created by God on the sixth day of creation like all of the nice creatures such as bunnies and panda bears... some creatures came about as a direct result of the fall of man. Seriously, can you imagine Adam and Eve fellowshipping with, say, a louse? No, no, no. It must have been that, just like death, certain things came about as a result of sin.

Adam: *crunching* Mmm, great idea, Eve. This apple tastes GREAT!

Eve: See, if you'd just LISTEN to me once in a while, you'd AAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEE!!! WHAT IS THAT HIDEOUS THING???

Adam: Hey, I thought you liked it when I wore my hair this way.

Eve: Not YOU-- THAT!!! It's hideous! Whoa, and it's FAST! *jumps up on tree stump* KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!

Adam: Sorry, the first murder of the Bible is reserved for our son.

Eve: What's the Bible?

I know, I know. It might be a bit theologically unsound. But come on, people... if any creature can embody sin, it would be a roach or a rat. Unfortunately for Adam and Eve, the Rat Zapper (www.ratzapper.com) was not invented until 1994. I'll spare you the details but let's just say that Norm's minions have returned to their maker... whoever it may be.

Or it could be that I live in New York City, whose official population would quadruple if roaches and rats were included in the census, and that I should stop whining and pray those rodents out of my apartment. Well, if THAT be true... then how do you explain THIS???

Amy's Great Adventurette XXXVII: Norm's Revenge

After a long day of helping Zakiya and Jeff move out of their apartment, I was trudging back up the stairs after bringing down another armful of goods to be loaded into the van. I stopped to chat with Z for a few minutes, making sure that all was well with the last bit of packing, and I even managed to avoid tripping over the doorway that had bested me seven other times that day. Feeling somewhat proud of myself for that small accomplishment, I grabbed a couple of garbage bags and started to make my way down the stairs... when I felt a strange sensation on my right foot. It felt like I was dragging something on my sneaker. Perhaps a stray paper towel, or a plastic bag? Right before I looked down, I remembered thinking "it almost feels.. sticky."

There, stuck firmly to my right sneaker... was a glue trap.

".... um .... Zakiya ....?"

Zakiya walked out of the kitchen, took one look at the situation at hand, and said, "This is N.G. Not Good."

No, seriously, Zakiya handled the situation extremely well and managed to come rather quickly to my aid, despite laughing uproariously. I would like to take this opportunity to commend CatchMaster, Inc. for the fine quality of their product, because it was nearly impossible to get that thing off of my shoe. After a great deal of straining and the strategic use of a paper towel, I was free. I tested a couple of steps and it felt like I had just stepped in gum. I smiled bravely and thanked Zakiya for her help as she threw out the offending trap and then made it almost to the refrigerator before succumbing to another bout of laughter.

It was funny, though, because as I started toward the steps again, it was my LEFT foot that started feeling sticky. I mean, I've heard of phantom pains but that's a little excessive. Just to make sure I wasn't losing my mind, I looked down at my other sneaker.

".... um.... Zakiya ....?

By this point, I thought that poor Zakiya was going to die. I don't know how she even made it back out to the hallway to help me scrape off YET ANOTHER glue trap. And, in case you haven't assumed this already, yes, these ARE the same sneakers that were featured in "Putting My Best Foot Forward."

Now tell me that this wasn't an OBVIOUS revenge attempt by the sin-spawned vermin whose comrades succumbed to my Rat Zapper. I'm sure that Norm enjoyed every moment as he watched via video conferencing before powering down his iBook for the evening.

Well, it's almost midnight, so I might as well go check on Stan. Babycakes, incidentally, was the name of the perp that came out of my closet that fateful evening. I knew that HE wasn't Norm because Babycakes was white and only half Norm's size. At least Norm is an equal opportunity employer.

A-Musings II: Gotta Go To God's

Please don't misunderstand. The fact that I've posted A-Musings for two straight weeks does NOT mean that I haven't done anything foolhardy in two weeks. Au contraire (French for 'whatev'). In fact, here's just a smattering of oopses that I've accomplished since the shoe incident:

• Locking my keys in the car ONCE AGAIN while taking a friend to the doctor's office.
• Waking up one morning to find five insect bites on myself in the shape of the Big Dipper (sort of like crop circles... but not.)
• Walking around my neighborhood for 15 minutes because I couldn't remember where my car was.
• Arriving home at 5:30 am after the Transitions All-Night Prayer Meeting and realizing that my house keys were sitting upstairs on my bed.

So don't worry. Things are just as they should be in Amyville. In fact, there was a perfect AGA incident that occured on Friday, but the circumstances must remain classified until next month.

So while you wait.... let's muse over some A-Musings.

******

My spiritual gift is E.

While you're chewing on that, I'll give a quick shout out to Nana, who has re-claimed her life after spending 25 hours per day studying for her MCAT... and also because she is the ONLY person who posted a comment after reading "Reject Demons and Ram Rights" *ahem ahem*. Also, just to keep you posted on previous events, I have since returned to the Jersey Gardens Mall and exchanged the two right shoes for a right and a left. The next day, I went out to play softball and forgot to change into my cleats, and got dirt in EVERY POSSIBLE CREVICE of those shoes.

But back to E. See, I have an uncanny yet unsurprising ability to fail tests that don't have right or wrong answers. It's incredible, really. For example, I took a test a few weeks ago to determine which careers I was best suited for. It was a simple test, asking questions about my likes and dislikes, values, personality type, etc. When I received my computerized results via email, I read a statement that basically said (in lots of technical jargon):

Scientifically speaking, you shouldn't be able to exist.

Well, that's about accurate. I've always said that I can singlehandedly disprove Darwin's Theory of Evolution by my mere existence. If survival of the fittest were true, I would SO not be around right now. However, I think they were more referring to the fact that my answers were seemingly contradictory and my personality type was undefinable... so they couldn't really give me results.

But don't think this is the first time that I've confounded a test of this nature. Some of you may remember the Spiritual Gifts inventory that Brian gave out at Transitions a while back. In case you weren't familiar, it was basically a questionnaire that helped to show you what some of your spiritual gifts might be and then gave some ministries that might be a good fit with a person of that particular gifting.

This was very exciting to me, as I had no clue what gift I might have. The gift of Foolishness wasn't listed, so I figured this might be an opportunity to branch out and fan into flame some of those other gifts that might be lying dormant. (I've now sat here for about 30 seconds, laughing hysterically at the word 'dormant.' I have no idea why.) I finished up the questions and then began adding up the numbers. The higher your number, the more you line up with that particular gift. If I remember correctly, which is unlikely, a score of 9 or higher indicated that you might be gifted in this area. When I finished, I sat scratching my head... because my paper looked something like this:

Gift 1: 5

Gift 2: 5

Gift 3: 5

Gift 4: 5

Gift 6: 5

Gift 7: 0

Gift 8: 5

Gift 9: 5

Gift 10: 5

Amazing. I rightly deduced that I probably should not pursue a career in Gift 7, but after that I was a bit stuck. I thought that maybe my computation was inaccurate or that I wasn't taking the test correctly, so I waited a couple of weeks and tried again-- same result.

Not a problem, people! I have since discovered that I have one of the cooler spiritual gifts out there. Remember when you took those evil tests in high school that had three multiple choice questions and then the choices 'all of the above' and 'none of the above'? Well, choice E was always 'none of the above.' It didn't mean "nothing," it just meant "not on this list of choices." That's my gift! E. I love it-- it's adaptable, interchangable and undefinable. And speaking of undefinable...

******

Who is Sam Hill? And why was he so important? Why do people say, 'What in the name of Sam Hill...?' What does that even mean?

******

Customer Service Representative: Welcome to God's, how can I help you?

Me: Oh, um, yes. Hi! Um, I need to return a gift.

CSR: ... I'm... sorry?

Me: I need to return a gift, please. It's malfunctioning.

CSR: Oh! I see. You're looking for Repairs. Down the hall, first door on your left.

Me: No, you don't understand. I don't want it fixed. I don't like it. I want to return it. It doesn't work, and it just brings me pain and frustration. It was obviously given to the wrong person, so if I could just give it back and be on my way, I would appreciate it.

CSR: .... Oh...... I see. *looks very confused* I'm sorry, it's just that... we don't accept returns.

Me: Oh. Okay, then I'll just exchange it. Any chance I could trade it for the ability to fly?? I've always wanted to do that. Or maybe omniscience, yeah, that'd be cool. But that one's probably for owners only, right? No matter. Just point me towards the Holy Spirit section and I'm sure I can find something in there.

CSR: I'm sorry, ma'am. We don't do exchanges either.

Me: Then what good are you?! Look, you don't seem to understand my situation. Other people have gifts, and they work. They use them, and people are blessed and God's kingdom is expanded. My gift isn't like that. It hurts me and it hurts other people. It controls me instead of me controlling it. It doesn't help anyone and it's not bringing any glory to God. I wouldn't call it a gift. I'd call it a thorn. A problem. A hindrance. I don't want it, and I'm sure that God doesn't want me to have it. If He did, then it would work and I wouldn't be here.

CSR: .... I understand, ma'am. I think there's someone here who might be able to help you. Would you mind waiting for a moment?

*I wait. After a few minutes, CSR returns with a man wearing a God's uniform.*

Me: Are you the manager? Great. Let me explain why I'm here, and--

Paul: I know why you're here. You'd like to exchange a gift, right?

Me: .... well, yes. How did you know that?

Paul: I used to come here for the exact same reason.

Me: Really?

Paul: Really. In fact... I came three times.

Me: THREE times! That's perseverence. I'm hoping I only have to come this once. It's not like it's easy to get here, you know. That winding staircase is a killer. So, where did you go? Who did you have to talk to in order to give back your gift?

Paul: Well, that's just it. I talked to everyone. I came to Customer Service and they wouldn't listen. I was desperate, you know, so I made a big stink. I asked to see the manager, and then I asked to see HIS manager. I complained so much and I was so insistent that I finally got an audience with the Owner.

Me: *jaw drops* You did not.

Paul: I assure you, I did.

Me: WHOA!!! Well, that's GREAT! He must have been able to do something for you, right? I hear that He's the one who decides who gets which gifts in the first place. So.... you told him that He must have made a mistake... and you want Him to take it back!

Paul: I did.

Me: And?? What did He say?

Paul: "My strength is made perfect in your weakness."

Me: .... huh?

Paul: He said, "My strength is made perfect in your weakness." He told me that He had given me that gift for a purpose, and that part of that purpose was learning what it meant to be weak so that He could show Himself strong. See, Amy, if your gift was managable and if you could make it work, then you wouldn't need Him. You'd be able to make things happen on your own, and that would take away from the main reason why He gave you the gift in the first place... to glorify Him. I used to think that if I couldn't control something, or if something caused me pain, it was evil and that I could just ask and it would be taken away. Now I know better. Now I know that my thorn was an opportunity for Him to shine. Now I BOAST in my weaknesses, my thorns, and my 'malfunctioning' gifts. For when I am weak...

Me: .... He is made strong. Thanks, Paul.

CSR: Is there anything else I can help you with today, ma'am?

Me: .... yes, Ma'am. Do you have any Grace in stock?

CSR: Always. That product is a part of our In-Stock Guarantee program. Just stop by the Mercy Seat on your way out. It's waiting there for you.

Me: Thanks.

CSR: And thank you for shopping at God's.

A-Musings I: Reject Demons and Ram Rights

Amy: You know when you have an interlude dream?

Innocent Bystander: Uh.... what?

Amy: An interlude dream. Like... you finish your first dream. And then before you have your next dream, there's a... an interlude. Like a little scene, real short, in between dreams.

IB: ..............what???

Amy: *sighs impatiently* It's just a little vignette. A short scene. It's almost like the second dream wasn't quite ready to begin yet, so they just had to pull something off the shelf and show it real quick while they got ready.

IB: You... you have to stop pretending that you're normal.

EXCellently put, IB! This little conversation served as the perfect introduction to the A-Musings series, the first series to debut as part of Foolish Things Ministries. Before we begin, I'd like to shout out to two people in particular that were instrumental in developing this series. My roommate, Nana, who has been listening to A-Musings for about 2 years now, and hasn't yet had me committed. A thousand thanks, Nana. And a special thanks also to Patty, who had the audacity and fearlessness to say "I wish I could get inside your head" before Story of Love on Friday, which gave me the courage to think that perhaps other might be able to survive the experience. Please take special note of the Surgeon General's Warnings contained in the archived episodes "The Keys To Success" before reading on.
******
You know who I really can't stand? MAILER-DAEMON. You know who that is, right? The guy who bounces all your e-mails back to you for no apparent reason? Simpleton as I am, I used to think there was just one, and that it was just some computer hacker or something. Oh, but I'm onto their little game now. Oh yes. Gotta get up PRET-TY early in the morning to pull one over MY eyes.

See, first of all, they're organized. There's a "mailer daemon" for every e-mail system that exists. Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, Mac, you name it, they've got a daemon. You know what, let's be real. Take out that "A," which, by the way, is a pitiful attempt for them to disguise their true nature. Just cause you stuck that extra little "A" in your last name, you think you can fool people, huh? MAILER DAY-EE-MON. Pathetic.

But then I started thinking... man, that demon sure got grunt duty. I mean, here they are, trying to serve the devil, bring down Christians, thwart God's plans for the world... big-time stuff... and here's this one guy (or several guys), stuck in a mail room somewhere, bouncing back e-mails.

See, MY theory is, they're the rejects. They must have been assigned to people who ended up getting saved, and then they were in HOT WATER... or should I say... HOT FIRE *badoom crash.* The boss was probably none too happy with them, since they failed miserably at their jobs, but they had to put them SOMEplace. So... mail room it was. You kinda feel bad for them. So who knows? If you're a Christian, maybe you were personally responsible for the creation of another MAILER-DAEMON.
******
Speaking of salvation, you know what else gets my dander up? The word dander. What's THAT expression about? Also, I feel as though I need to begin to champion a very serious cause, and I'm hoping you'll join me. Now. I know that, in the end, it's really all about the Lord. Like the apostle Paul once said, "I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow." I understand that it really doesn't matter who gets the credit for things. However, I really believe that the Christian community as a whole is guilty of grossly underestimating the role of a very key Biblical player.

If it were not for this character, Israel would never have come into existence. In fact, if I may be so bold, it would not have been possible for our Savior to have been born without the champion of my cause. I daresay, I have never heard a preacher, songwriter, teacher or evangelist spend more than 2 minutes on this individual... yet billions of sermons, songs, lessons and exhortations are a DIRECT RESULT of this hero. One of the very names of God Himself was birthed because of his involvement in God's sovereign plan.

The ram.

Yes, that's right. And for further proof that we have made such an egregious error in forgetting his accomplishment, I bet most of you are staring at the screen right now thinking "the ram.... hmm... now, which ram was this?" or "ram, ram, ram.... sorry, not ringing a bell."

The ram, people! You know the story-- God wakes Abraham up one day and tells him to go take his son Isaac and sacrifice him... Abraham puts Isaac on the altar, raises his arm to slaughter his son, and the angel of the Lord appears! And what happens?

"Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place JEHOVAH JIREH (The Lord Will Provide)." (Gen 22:13-14)

Can you just take a minute and imagine this from the ram's perspective? See, I happen to think that God supernaturally transported the ram to that spot at the last minute. Cause what animal would come over and graze near a place where there was commotion? So here's the ram, chillin', minding his own business and chewing on some grass. Maybe thinking about his upcoming nap, or pondering whether or not to approach the ramette that he noticed as he was coming down to graze. He bends down to eat another morsel, opens his mouth... and suddenly notices that something's different. Mouth still open, he looks up slowly with his eyes... and he sees a boy tied down to an altar, head up, looking in his direction. Abraham, with knife in hand, eyeing him with relief. And an angel, hovering above it all, pointing at him.

Aw, COME ON!!!!, he might have said (in ram of course. Hebrew ram.) He tries to get away... but his dumb horns are caught in some thicket. Of course, THEN he remembers his mother's nagging voice: I told you to CUT those things! And before you know it, he's dead. Sacrificed on the altar, as Abraham and Isaac walk away, arms entertwined, appropriately grateful to God for sparing Isaac's life.

Now, I am not asking for much. Just a little bit of respect, admiration, and dare I say gratitude for this innocent ram, plucked from his home and martyred so that the plan of God could go forth. But no. No sermons... no songs. No mention in Foxe's Book of Martyrs.

I am hereby championing the RRC (Ram Rights Coalition) so that we can educate those around us as to the importance of this underrated, crucial character.

I would like to give special mention here to Michael Card, whose song "El Shaddai" made mention of this heroic act. As quoted here in verse 2:

"Through Your love and through the ram / You saved the son of Abraham."

And finally, two thumbs firmly down to Jody McBreyer and Avalon, who had a perfect opportunity to include the ram in their song "You Were There," but failed to do so. Again, in verse 2:

"So there he stood upon that hill / Abraham with knife in hand was poised to kill / But God in all His sovereignty had bigger plans / And just in time / He brought a lamb."

..... a WHAT?????? A RAM!!!!! IT RHYMES!!!!

No respect. Help me out here, people. Education is the key to ending ignorance.

Putting My Best Foot Forward

Today's scheduled program, entitled "Reject Demons and Ram Rights" has been postponed due to a recent must-tell bout of senselessness and irony. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you, and we promise that "Reject Demons and Ram Rights" will air sometime this week. -FTM Staff
********************************************************

Six months ago, FTM celebrated its 25th anniversary. That's 25 years that I've spent getting myself into situations that no other living, breathing humanoid would ever find themselves in.

So why is it, pray tell, that I'm still surprised when these things happen? YOU all are not surprised. In fact, when I tell you that another AGA moment has occurred, you usually just smile and nod and think that all is right with the world, and move along. You say such things as:

• *checks watch* "Well, it HAS been over 24 hours..."
• "Great!! Can't wait for the post..."
• "ah, so THAT would explain why you're dripping wet."

These remarks, of course, come from seasoned saints who are well-schooled in the workings of FTM and know alllllllllll about irony of fate. Well, whether you're a seasoned saint or a newbie, check this one out...

Amy's Great Adventures, Episode XXVIII: Putting My Best Foot Forward

Monday, March 27th, 2006.

Allow me to set the scene for you. I'm cruising in Min, on my way to Jersey, and--

Totally Unnecessary Tangent #1: Okay, after reading those first 18 words, anyone with the IQ of a breadstick has already accepted the fact that an AGA incident will take place. I don't think anyone has ever driven to Jersey without having some kind of incident take place. With apologies to those who live/work/care about New Jersey, and with all due respect given to the Embroidery Capital of the World (not making that up)... New Jersey is the armpit of the northeast. I cannot STAND it. It is federal law that any driver who, under the influence of some obvious mental deficiency, chooses to drive past the state boundary must IMMEDIATELY get lost. It is also the only place, to my knowledge, that can smell worse than Manhattan Garbage Pick-Up Day in 90 Degree Heat. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

-- it was a beautiful day. I had volunteered myself (and Min) to help transport some BT staff members to the Jersey Gardens mall to pick up some items, and I was looking forward to a nice, relaxing time of looking longingly at all of the items that I would WANT to buy if I had any money.

We found the mall without incident, and went inside. I immediately noticed a Skechers store and then looked down at my feet, and thought "I REALLY need new sneakers." You know it's time to get new sneakers when a) you can see any part of any one of your toes and b) the sneaker has turned at least two hues lighter or darker on the color palette than the original. My sneakers had both, but my wallet was laughing at me so i moved along.

During the middle of the day, I realized that I needed to get to a drugstore to make a purchase. I couldn't find any in the directory, but the lady at the "Information" booth had directions to a Walgreens which was about 2 miles down the road. I took the directions, professionally printed out from MapQuest, called my friends to let them know that I was going to take a brief detour with Min and be back soon.

Totally Unnecessary Tangent #2: I'm noticing more and more how calm things always seem before the chaos sets in. I take care of everything that I need to take care of... things seem like they are rolling along smoothly... and then BAM!! I guess God must think it makes for a better story that way. Aaaaand we're back...

So I got out my MapQuest directions, made sure I was starting in the right direction on the right road, and set off. I even plugged in my IPod, Po, with my nifty little contraption that hooks up through the cigarette lighter in my car so that I can listen to my IPod on the road. I was cruisin. But somehow... perhaps distracted by checking the speedometer or glancing in my rearview mirrors or engaging in some other totally inappropriate action while driving, such as blinking... I ended up on a major highway. I have no idea how this happened. In fact, according to the six different maps that I ended up using during Part I of this adventure, there were no major highways near where I was. However, I was not thinking according to Amy's Law.

Amy's Law: If, in the course of human events, we the people decide to form a more perfect idea that could go wrong, there is an equal and opposite reaction that requires an object in motion to remain in motion until it is acted on by a force, unless that force is losing one's keys, which will always be found in the last place you look, except if that place happens to be in the bottom of a cosmetics bags.

So! Clearly, it can be seen that according to Amy's Law, one does not necessarily need to be located NEAR a highway in order to suddenly find oneself on it. And that is precisely what happened to me. But I did not panic. I simply relied on a time-tested, tried-and-true strategy for what to do when you find yourself on a nonexistent major highway: Take your very first exit, which, according to Amy's Law, will immediately place you on an even majorer highway. I followed this effective strategy for about 15 minutes, exiting onto highway after highway, until I finally decided to opt for Plan B, which was to pull over and look at a map. Always prepared, I had six maps in my car that contained parts of New Jersey. After carefully examining each map, I came to the foregone conclusion that none of those six maps contained the part that I was in. So I went to Plan C, which was to figure out which direction I think I should be going in, and then just do whatever I could to keep driving in that direction until I found someplace that I recognized.

Believe it or not... it worked! I kept driving in one general direction and suddenly I got to a spot where I could see Jersey Gardens! The only problem was that it was on the opposite side of a large body of water. Not a problem-- at least I can see where I need to go. I let out a deep breath and relaxed for just a moment. And in that moment, I nearly ran over a large Hispanic man who was standing in the middle of the street.

See, I was so focused on where I needed to go that I wasn't really paying attention to where I was. And where I was was in a place that vaguely resembled that area in Brooklyn by 2nd avenue where all of those docks are... (if you're an AGA veteran, this was DEFINITELY a double black diamond neighborhood). I realized that I needed to get out of here Right Away, so I tried to look as menacing as possible while performing an 11-point turn to get Min facing the right direction. In the chaos, I inadvertently turned on the windshield wipers and activated my turn signal. *shaking head* It's really a wonder that I survived Poughkeepsie, let alone Brooklyn.

So finally, I ended up getting back into a less frightening area, and asked someone for directions to get back to Jersey Gardens. The woman was very nice and I ended up following her to get back, so there were no more problems. I called my friends and let them know that I was back, and they said that they would be just a little bit longer, so I ended up walking back into the mall, past the Skechers store.

At this point, my feet were KILLING me. I had been walking/driving all day, and my back was starting to hurt. I knew that part of that was from the fact that my sneakers were in desperate need of replacement. There was a large SALE sign in the store window, so I thought I would take a peek. I ended up finding the EXACT sneakers that I wanted-- these black low-tops that I had before this current pair. I looked for my size-- score! They had it.

TUT #3: I don't even bother shopping for women's sneakers anymore. I just save myself the pain and go to the men's section. NOBODY carries size 11 WIDE. I have boats attached to my ankles. I could water ski skiless.

I immediately took out the shoes and put on one of the sneakers, just to check the size. I already knew that I liked the sneaker because I had worn it before. As I was doing this, I noticed that the sign that advertised the sale said "buy 1, get one half off." So I looked for another pair of casual sneaker/shoes (since I didn't have any of those either) and found a nice brown pair that I was interested in. I tried them on and they felt fine, and right at that moment my friends called and said they were going to the car and to meet them in 5 minutes. I hurriedly gathered up my purchases, slapped my credit card on the table with miminal guilt (I really did need the sneakers) and walked out of the store in 3 minutes flat.

I had rehearsal for "Story of Love" that night, and I decided that I would use that rehearsal to break in my new black sneakers. I got them out of the trunk and brought the box into the front seat and took off my old sneaks. I was only sort of half-paying attention to what I was doing, because I was checking the time to make sure I wasn't late, and making sure I didn't lock my keys in the car *ahem*, so it didn't surprise me that I put the shoe on the wrong foot.

"Hee hee," I thought, and absent-mindedly reached for the other shoe. By this point, I was rummaging around the car to make sure I hadn't left anything, while shoving my foot into the sneaker. Something STILL felt wrong... what is UP with this sneaker?? I looked down and the sneaker was still on the wrong foot. I rolled my eyes in exasperation-- how hard is it to put on a shoe?

Apparently very hard, if both sneakers were right ones.

Yes, that's right. Two right sneakers.

Now I would have caught this problem if I had chosen to try on the LEFT sneaker in the store. I also would have caught the problem if I hadn't left the store so quickly. There were about 6 different boxes that had my size, and I actually went for another box first, but put it back because the other box was "nicer." And in order for me to RETURN the sneakers... I would have to go back to Jersey. Unbelievable. Yet, on the other hand, completely believable. Why?

Because we are....

Foolish Things Ministries:

Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense in a Neighborhood Near You!

Thanks, BRIAN.

So, if you missed the excitement, last night at Transitions, Brian had a Great Idea. It began with the innocuous words, "Amy, could you stand up for a minute?"

I said, "No."

Well, actually, I said, "*looks around*... me?," which was extremely intelligent considering he had just said my name and was staring at me. But I almost said, "No."

Why, you may ask? Because I had NO IDEA what Brian was about to say. And all I could do was slowly stand up, give a little wave, and think OH MY GOODNESS WHAT HAVE I DONE THAT WOULD MAKE BRIAN ASK ME TO STAND???? Master's degree? No, that was last summer. Birthday? Not even close. Oh my goodness... what if he tells some embarrasing story about me? I don't want people knowing if I do stupid things!

*badoom crash*

Brian continued, taking his time with each syllable, "Amy has just recently--"

WHAT HAS AMY RECENTLY DONE???
Graduated? No.
Moved? No.
Had a baby? Only one virgin birth.
Gotten married? Probably would have remembered that.

And if you're thinking "there's no way you could have thought all of that in the time it took for Brian to say one sentence," then you have never entered into the depths of my mind, which is a blessing that you should treasure with all of your heart.

--started a website blah blah blah blah."

To which I gave the sophisticated and eloquent response, "NO... WAY."

By the end of the torture, I had introduced FTM (Foolish Things Ministries) and given out this website. I then realized that newcomers would be completely clueless as to what in the world was going on here, and therefore would fit right in with the staff here at FTM.

No, seriously, I didn't want people to be confused-- that's not part of our mission statement. So please note the following announcements and stay tuned for the next post, which will be called "Reject Demons and Ram Rights" and will kick off the A-musings series at FTM.

• If you are new to FTM, please read the post entitled "If You're New..." It can be found under the section called "Previous" on the right hand side of the post.
• We now have an e-mail address that you can write to at any time with suggestions, questions, comments, complaints, criticisms and compliments. Nice and simple: foolishthingsministries@gmail.com.
• If you would like to leave a comment on any post, PLEASE don't post as anonymous. If you click on the option that says "other," you can just leave your name and just ignore the part that says "website," unless you want to enter one.
• All archived AGA (Amy's Great Adventures) episodes are now online! If you'd like to read any previous episodes, just click on the link under "Archives" that goes with the date of the episode. Each month listed has a new episode and there are 10 of them! :)

Intro, yo.

Welcome, friends, to Foolish Things Ministries!

If you are a long-standing partner with FTM, you are already aware of our reputation for being a top-notch provider of high-quality hijinks. If you're new, we welcome you to the team and encourage you to have absolutely no expectations whatsoever. That way, we'll probably exceed them.

I just recently gained full custody of Min (my 1997 Chevy Lumina), who has been driven and crashed by more of my friends than any other car that I am aware of *applause*. However, despite having been a licensed driver for almost ten years... it seems as though I might need a refresher course on the basics.

yeah, okay, so this isn't Min. but it's a REALLY cool picture.

I had just frantically pulled up in front of 202 Flatbush last Saturday morning. I did not want to be late for drama rehearsal, but my contact lenses were threatening to become part of my eye if I did not assuage them with some eye drops... so I left my compatriot (shout out to PJC) watching the car while I dashed upstairs. I grabbed what I needed and flew back out the door, nearly tripping on a huge garbage bag on the landing, and jumped back into Min. I looked behind me, put the car in reverse, and lighly tapped on the gas.

Something was wrong!! Min was not responding!! Code blue! The car began slowly rolling backwards down Flatbush Avenue. I tried slamming on the brakes but it was like they were stuck in molasses. I'm in full Panic Mode at this point, trying again to shift back into neutral, or into drive. I had both feet pressed as hard as I could against the brake and Min finally stopped. I frenetically rolled down my window and screamed out to my friend, who had just crossed the street, "HELP!! MIN IS UNCONSCIOUS!!"

He walked over, shook his head, and said, "Turn the car on, Amy."

Oh yeah. Oops.

If You're New...

Welcome to FTM! If you're joining us for the first time, let me just take a moment to explain to you what in the world is going on here.

FTM (Foolish Things Ministries) was birthed on a blustery September day twenty-five years ago, when I came into this world. Since that moment, I have been blessed with a unique ability to get myself into unbelievable situations that would never happen to anyone else. My job, as president and founder of FTM, is to write them down and share them with the world so that they can laugh. That's why our motto is "Our Embarrasment Is Your Entertainment."

FTM began with a series called Amy's Great Adventures (AGA) back in the year 2001. You can find all of the old AGA episodes in the archives, so that you can catch up on all of the episodes you've missed. We have just recently developed a segment called A-musings, which is basically just a smorgasbord of really random thoughts. We were going to called Things That We Think When We're Supposed To Be Doing Something Else, but we thought it was too long. So A-musings it is.

We at FTM LOVE to hear from our readers, so if you read a post, please feel free to leave a comment (just click on "comments") or drop us an email at foolishthingsministries@gmail.com.

The Keys To Success (January 2006)

I think I’m going to get a tattoo.

Okay, okay, scrape your eyebrows off of the ceiling. I don’t want to get a tattoo. But, for the good of humanity, I feel that this may be necessary. You know those warnings that they put on cigarettes? You know, the ones in size .0001 font, letting you know in vague and evasive language that the product that you’re using will almost definitely probably kill you? I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to have one of those babies written directly on my forehead. Something like…

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Prolonged Exposure To This Individual May Lead You Into Unanticipated Chaos.

Or if that one doesn’t fly, how about:

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Avoiding This Individual Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Sanity.

I say this because I have reached the point in my life where even I am baffled at the amount of commotion that seems to pursue me. Others have been baffled for quite some time now, but I think I’m catching up. In fact, I’ve been doing some research about ironic situations, and I think I’ve found an answer. Check out this definition, provided for us today by wikipedia.com:

irony of fate, n.
1. The notion that the gods are amusing themselves by toying with the minds of mortals, with deliberate ironic intent.

Hello? Is that not me in a nutshell, or what? I think Webster’s could save a great deal of money and ink by changing their definition as follows:

irony of fate, n.
1. Amy.

Moment of Pondering #1: If you digress without really making a point in the first place… is it really a digression? *contemplative silence*

Okay, enough already! You people want an adventure, let’s get to it!
*AGA theme music begins*
*voice-over*

you've watched her through the years...

you gasped when she got decked in the face with a cross before a gospel choir concert... you howled with laughter when Lady With Cute Child loudly asked her if she was pregnant on the Q train... you marveled at her naiveté when she used her thimble-sized subway map to be her sole guide in trekking across the Brooklyn ghetto.

you understand the Etch-A-Sketch and Double Black Diamond Neighborhoods. you've met the Squawking Sisters, Needle-Flick Nurse, and the Threatening Looking Individuals.

and now...
the moment you've all been waiting for...

AMY'S!
GREAT!
ADVENTUUUUUURES!!!

*crowd goes wild*

let's give a warm welcome to the organization that makes it all possible, where "Our Embarrassment Is Your Entertainment," Foolish Things Ministries!

Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. Here at FTM it is our number one goal to see you amused by our stupidity. We've worked long and hard to... well... actually... we haven't really worked at all. These things just kinda happen to us. Ha ha! But, regardless, we are honored to regale you with our heroic tales of inanity. And now, FTM proudly presents to you:

Episode XVIII: The Keys To Success

Date: January 16th, 2006
Time: 10:30 am
Location: Lake Pleasant, NY (just 30 miles NNE of Nowhere)

It had been a fun-filled weekend with friends at my family’s cabin, and we were just about ready to venture out for our last day of skiing before returning home. We were all piled into two cars, attempting to get warm, as the temperatures were hovering in the single digits (although it was better that ski day #1, when it was -5 with a wind chill of -30!!)… when we started having some trouble. One of our cars was dangerously overheated and we did not feel that it was safe to drive. We were a bit disappointed, as this meant that our last ski day would probably not happen, but very glad that I had a AAA membership, which I got only DAYS after I managed to lock my keys in my car (see above note on irony of fate). I called AAA and got a very pleasant-sounding woman who professionally took down all of my information. That is, of course, until she asked for my location. “I’m sorry… you’re WHERE?,” was the response given. Apparently our location was so remote that she had to transfer me to a completely different AAA department with a different name. Something like AAA Northway. A new worker picked up the phone who did not sound HALF as professional as Pleasant Lady. In fact, she sounded a bit like Fran Drescher crossed with Chewbacca.

*pausing to let you try to even IMAGINE what that might sound like*

Despite my initial impression, she eventually was able to get us the help we needed, sending a tow truck that could bring the car to the ONE AAA location in about 50 miles, where it could be assessed. Eventually, after approximately 7 hours and a extraordinary amount of chaos (which I will skip in order to keep this e-mail shorter than War and Peace), we were back on the road. It was 6:00 pm.

Turmoil continued on the journey back home when the BQE was completely blocked off due to an accident, so we were forced to re-route deeper into Queens (motto: We Don’t Care If Our Road Signs Make No Sense) and wind our way back to Brooklyn. Basically, cars had been the major source of frustration for me this day, and I was just looking forward to getting OUT of one, getting INTO my bed, and going to sleep. After all, I had to work the next morning. We finally dropped off the last of our party and headed into Bay Ridge, where my car (Min) was waiting for me. It was 11:00 pm.

I decided to check my cell phone messages en route, and I had a message from one of my roommates, Erika. I punched in my password and began to listen.

*beep* Hey Amy, this is Erika. Um, I’m calling because there are some messages for you on our answering machine… something about your car being towed… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Oh, she said more. But after the words “car” and “towed,” I immediately slipped into Full Panic Mode and heard nothing but blahs. I turned to Jeremy, who was driving, and said “… there’s a message that says my car’s been towed.” The car was silent for about 5 seconds, and then we both simultaneously began to state out loud all of the reasons why that did NOT really mean that my car, Min, had been towed. We did this for about a minute, and then slipped into silence again. I was attempting to maintain at least a scrap of composure while also concentrating on keeping my heart inside of my chest. Fortunately, the traffic lights were with us on 4th Avenue, because had it taken about 5 minutes longer I probably would have gotten out and started running.

We turned the corner and I could barely look, until I heard Jeremy say, “there she is!” 16,000 cubic tons of air was released from my lungs and I began to chuckle almost involuntarily. Jeremy was chuckling too, and said “you see? God wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

Ah, Jeremy. That HAS to go in the Book of Phrases You Should Never Say Unless You Want Something Bad To Happen, along with “I’ll be right back,” and “What could possibly go wrong?”

But it looked like he was right—my car was in plain sight, we had made it to Bay Ridge in one piece, all members of our party had been delivered to their homes. All was well! “Why don’t you get your car warmed up, and I’ll start loading the stuff,” said Jeremy. All of a sudden, the craziness of the day caught up with me and I felt exhausted. In fact, I was so tired that my fingers couldn’t even locate the keys in the key pocket of my purse. I chuckled for a second before setting the bag down, thinking, “wouldn’t THAT just beat all, if I couldn’t find my keys?” Oh, I found them, all right. In the passenger’s seat of my car. My locked car. It was midnight.

By this time I was Done, capital-D-style. We went over to a car service place just to ask for advice, and they rigged up a coat hanger for us and sent us back out into the night. That (obviously) didn’t work, and I ended up taking Jeremy’s car home with a plan to go back the next day (hopefully with the spare key) and resolve the situation. I, of course, did NOT want to take this car into my possession, especially with my track record that day, but there really wasn’t a choice. I got in the car and drove home.

If you’re thinking, “okay, that has GOT to be the end of the story,” you aren’t speaking proper English. You also haven’t read very many AGA Episodes.

I woke up the next morning, after getting about 3 and a half hours of sleep, and RAN to the window to make sure that the car was still there, which it was. I gathered all of my stuff that I needed for the day and started down to the car. Halfway down the stairs, I realized that I had forgotten a couple of things upstairs, so I turned to go back… when I had an Idea. “Hey,” I thought. “It’s cold out. What if I went down to the car, started the engine, made sure the Club thingy is securely fastened, got out of the car, locked the car, went back upstairs, finished getting what I needed to get, came back down, unlocked the car, removed the Club thingy, and drove off to work in a nice, warmed car?? It’s FOOLPROOF!”

I had to separate the car key from the keyring, since the automatic door lock thingy needed to go with me and the car key needed to stay in the car. But alas, the car would not let me lock from the outside when the car was running. So I aborted my plan, turned off the car, put the key back on the keyring, went upstairs, finished my business, came back down, got into the car, unlocked the Club thingy, and went to put the key into the ignition. Except there was no key.

I have no idea how the key leaped off the keyring like it did. But I do know why. Irony of fate.

I searched EVERYWHERE for that key. By this time I was starting to seriously panic, 1) because I was about to be late to work and 2) because if I did not find this key, I was going to have to call Jeremy and explain that I had lost the key to his car. After momentarily considering just dashing out into heavy traffic, I resumed my search. By 9:00 I realized that I had to start putting money in the meter, so I went to get some quarters… but the meter was broken. “Woo hoo!,” I thought. “Now I don’t have to pay anything!” This, of course, was before I realized that there were NO other cars parked on this stretch. And ALL of the other meters were working, which meant that I could get ticketed for "choosing" a broken meter. But I can’t move the car, because the key is missing!

What To Do If Your Car Is Parked At A Broken Meter With No Other Cars Around You And Your Keys Are Missing So That You Cannot Move It:

a) Try putting quarters in the meter anyway, so that at least you’ve done the honest thing, even thought they will ticket you for an amount greater than the GNP of a small European nation.

b) Just leave it there and go upstairs and continue your search, while running every 15 seconds back to the window to make sure no one is anywhere NEAR the vehicle.

c) Stand there and cry.

The correct answer, of course, is c). It’s always c). But, once a), b), and c) become tiring, opt for d), which is to create a nifty hand-made sign using a Sharpie and some computer paper, saying “Hi! :) This meter is broken and I cannot move the car because the keys are missing.” Then include your cell phone number so that they can call you so that you can witness them ticketing you for an amount greater than the GNP of a small European nation.

After 2 hours of searching… I found the key! Not underneath the car. Not hidden in a small nook in the stairwell, covered by a spiderweb. Not, thank God, at the bottom of a large grate that I carefully inspected using the age-old technique of laying flat on your stomach and moving an inch at a time while ever germ every created has a field day in your hair.

I found it in the bottom of my cosmetics bag.

SURGEON GENERALS WARNING: Trying To Figure Out How This Possibly Could Have Happened Could Have Detrimental Effects On The Space Time Continuum.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any space for that tattoo. The forehead is already taken.