Sick-bed Blogging

I'm writing to you all from my sick-bed.  It's really just my regular bed, but I'm way sick.  Convalescing all over the place.  Or all around the house, and the grocery store, and the recycling center.  Because when you have only one day off each week, you have to get shit done, even when you feel like someone smacked you in the face with a 2x4 and pumped a bunch of glue into your nasal passages.

The good news is, I found some decently priced flights for the holidays!  We'll be flying home to New Jersey on the 20th and we won't be returning to the geopolitical abomination that is Idaho until January 4th!  Hooray and huzzah.

The other good news is that I think I should be done with bad things happening to me for a while.  They come in threes, right?  So I figure I have to be storing up some karma points for the (totally awkward) job rejection, getting sick, and discovering this afternoon that my car won't start because of either a weird electrical problem or a bad battery.  How convenient that this should happen mere months after the warranty expired.  Come on, universe, throw me a bone.

Although I may have just squandered all my karma points later this afternoon.  I was on the phone with my mom, dressed in several layers and huddled under a blanket, alternating phone-holding hands so neither hand would get frostbite, when there came a knock at the door.  I had just begun to generate some warmth by shivering in the fetal position and seriously had no interest in getting up to answer the door.  I heard two unfamiliar female voices outside, so I decided to ignore them in the hope they would go away. 

Alas, the hags were persistent.  They knocked again, harder.  And hags they certainly were.  I glanced out the peephole to make sure they were unarmed (you never know around here, people are to guns as 1990's tourists are to fanny packs, they just strap 'em on like it's no big deal).  They looked harmless, so I cracked open the door to find two very frumpy, soggy-looking women huddled on my porch.  "Your keys are in the door," one of them said to me.

"Oh, uh, thanks."  Andy had apparently left his keys in the door when we returned from the store.  I moved to shut the door and the first woman spoke up again.  "I see you're on the phone."  Uh, YEAH.  What do you want, ladies?  "Perhaps I'll just leave you with an encouraging verse..."  That's when I noticed her clutching a dog-eared bible, so I went into stealth mode and blurted out, "No thanks, we're Jewish!" and quickly shut the door.  Mean?  Yes.  Necessary?  Hell yes. 

I want no part of any religious group that tries to rudely intrude on my private life in that way.  You can have whatever beliefs you want, but keep them to yourself.  Seriously.  Who comes to someone's house, uninvited like that, and knocks TWICE?  If you want to come up to me on the street and proselytize, fine.  I'm still going to shoo you away, but you have every right to approach me in public.  But when I'm in my house, leave me ALONE.  Save your black Nikes and your Kool-Aid for someone else.