They're Coming to Take Me Away!

Last summer, Kirsten and I drove across the country. She needed to get her car home, I love driving across the country, and we'd done it once before, so we knew we were great driving buddies.

Our first overnight stop was planned for somewhere near Flagstaff, AZ, but the forecast there was calling for heavy snow. Yes, snow. In May. We thought about detouring south, but the rest of Arizona was scheduled for severe thunderstorms, so we chatted with a guide at the visitors' center and settled on a campsite right by a town called Williams that was close to Flagstaff, but at a lower elevation.

The campsite at Williams was lovely. We set up our tent right across from a huge lake, then spent some time exploring said lake and enjoying the scenery. I happened to notice that everyone else at the campsite had decided on an RV for their camping experience, but I figured our rain cover and cozy sleeping bags would protect us from any snow [almost] just as well.

Soon, the sun began to set, and since I'm not much for reading by flashlight, I snuggled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

A couple hours later, I began dreaming that the military was out to get me for some reason. I ran and I ran, but they were shooting at me from all directions. My dream startled me awake, and I was welcomed to reality with an enormous booming sound, just the noise I would imagine a legion of tanks might make as it makes its way through the woods.

Though I soon got over my fear that the army was out to get me personally, I was convinced that all the noise was indeed a covert military operation through the woods of Williams, Arizona. I just knew that there was a tank brigade making its way through our campground. But then I panicked all over again. The tanks may not have had specific orders to hunt me down and kill me, but Kirsten and I were the only ones at the campground who were not in an RV; there was no way the tanks would see our dinky little tent, and we were sure to be crushed by their covert advance!

Soon, as a few minutes passed and I remained 3-dimensional, I calmed down and decided that I was just being silly. There was no secret military mission through the woods of Williams, Arizona. The noise had not stopped, though, and there had to be some explanation for the cacophony. Instead of a military maneuver, I then decided that the noise was caused by a number of trucks and helicopters swarming the campground. Of course, that explanation needed an explanation, so I decided that there must be a serial rapist-killer on the loose (perhaps one who had just escaped from custody). Again, I panicked. Kirsten and I were two little girls in a tent whose walls could easily be breached with a simple steak knife. And of course, no one would hear our screams because they were all holed up in their big RVs!

Eventually, my fatigue took over and I was able to fall asleep. Thankfully, I woke in the morning to find our tent un-slashed, uncrushed, and Kirsten and me as chaste and pure as the night before. Upon leaving the campground, Kirsten pointed out a set of train tracks that couldn't have been more than a couple hundred yards from where we had slept. Turns out there had never been any secret military operation, nor a frantic search mission, only a routine railroad run. Funny, I would have never guessed trains could be that loud.

When You Wish Upon a Star

When I was younger, I was obsessed with the Animorphs series. When I say obsessed, I mean Seriously. For those of you who have never had the good fortune of encountering the Animorphs story, let me give you a brief overview. There are a group of friends who are visited by an alien and given the power to acquire the DNA of any animal they touch so that they can later morph into that animal. While in the animal state, half of their brain power can be controlled by their own human minds, and the other half is controlled by the mind of the animal. So not only do they get to have the body and abilities of their animal, but they get to experience how that animal thinks, as well. While in this state, they communicate with each other telepathically. Of course, all of these powers are ultimately to serve the greater good of stopping some alien race who implant themselves in human brains from taking over Earth, but I never actually cared that much about that particular plot twist.

Now, to give you an idea of my obsession, let me just say that it is all I wished for. Ever. If an eyelash fell out and I put it on the back of my hand to blow it off, I wished to be an Animorph. If I won the greater piece of a wishbone, I wished to be an Animorph. If I noticed the first star in the sky, I wished to be an Animorph. Even now, I hesitate to admit to these wishes, not because they are embarrassing, but because writing them here most definitely qualifies as telling someone about them, thus rendering these wishes unfulfillable.

While the idea of becoming an Animorph has always been a dream for me, it has also haunted me. Tonight, I was put in charge of caring for my poor, terrified dog during a routine summer thunderstorm. I had to use the bathroom and, with everyone else either asleep or out of the house, I couldn't just leave my dog in the hallway to shiver alone. In fact, I didn't even have to coax her into the bathroom; she just ran right in. But of course, I then felt strange dropping my pants and taking a seat in front of my dog. After all, what if she wasn't actually my dog, but instead were one of my friends simply morphed into my dog? How embarrassing would that be?

I managed to accomplish my bathroom tasks, but not without overcoming a fair share of stagefright. And this is not a rare occurrence for me. Anytime an animal of any sort is in the bathroom with me, or in my room while I am changing, or present while I am picking my nose or something of the sort, I feel awkward and worry that said animal is actually a friend in morphed-form watching me in my personal moment.

I know it's silly, but I just can't get over it. So the next time I'm around friends, perhaps I'll invite one or two into the bathroom with me. At least then, I'm not worrying the whole time about whether or not they're my friends in morphed-form, since they'll be friends in just-plain-normal form. Or maybe I'll just have to get more comfortable with my embarrassing habits. And anyway, if I have a friend who decides that they should morph into my dog and follow me into the bathroom, I guess they kind of deserve whatever show they may get.

April Fools!

I do not like April Fools Day. My second-hand embarrassment plus my fear of looking stupid makes me a poor sport in the case of April Fools pranks. I don't like fooling and I don't like being fooled. Last year's April 1st was the first exception to this rule, after I became the butt of a remarkably well-played joke.

April 1, 2008 started out just like any other day. I biked to school, I ate lunch with friends, and I hated life on the bike ride up Indian Hill on the way home from school. But when my housemate, Margy, came home that night and greeted me with, "Is someone living in our garage?" the day took a turn for the weird.

Apparently, Margy had been looking in the garage for an exercise ball (or something) and stumbled upon a bed. When I went to investigate, I found that -sure enough - there was a sleeping bag, a pillow with a book on top, a jar lid full of cigarette butts, a broken cookie, and even a paper bag with a little bottle of booze sticking out, all hidden behind the spider chair.

Explanations raced through our heads as we ran back into the house to discuss the situation. It had to be someone we knew; otherwise, how would they know that we hardly ever go into the garage? If it was someone we knew, what kind of trouble would spur them to secretly move into our garage instead of just asking for help? Should we leave a note on the garage door explaining that they should just come talk to us and we can probably find a space for them in the house if they need it?

Then it dawned on me. It was April 1st! Margy laughed and yelled that we had been so fooled. But there were more questions to answer: Who did it? How did they know that we would find the bed on April 1st, especially considering that we really never go in the garage?

To be sure that we were right, we returned to the crime scene. With this revelation, the setup did indeed look too perfect to be real. The determining factor, though, were the cigarettes. The jar lid held cigarettes, but no ash, and I ask you - who smokes a cigarette in one place and returns to their bed to deposit the butt in their "ashtray?"

Finally, a call to Kirsten cleared up the entire mystery. She and Phoebe had made the set up and even had plans to sneak out that night when we were all home and make creepy noises in the garage to freak us all out. Turns out, they hadn't planned on Margy going into the garage that day, either. I have to say, I'm pretty glad it didn't get that far; I'm not so sure I would have thought it so great a prank in that case.

So, my friends, that is the story of last year's April Fools Day, the first time that I enjoyed the holiday for what it is - friends playing good-hearted tricks on other friends. I'm still not sold on the holiday, though. So don't get any ideas.

Following Doctor's Orders

After Jen stopped her silly attention-grabbing death act at the hospital, she was moved from her private room in the ICU to a double room in general care so she could recover with proper medical supervision without taking up a high-demand specialty bed in intensive care.

As a few friends and I were visiting the first night she moved in, we heard her roommate page the nurses quite a few times requesting some ice, but to no avail. We cringed as Jen's sister, Heather, ranted an "I-told-you-so" speech about the lousy service people get in general care. So when Jen's doctor came in to introduce himself, Jen (being the kind soul that she is) asked him if he could get her roommate some ice because she had been asking for it for a while but no one had come. He said he would see what he could do and left the room.

He came back a few seconds later and quietly told us that Jen's roommate wasn't allowed to have anything by mouth because they thought they might have to perform surgery on her for some reason. Once he left, Heather, the only one in the room who actually had a view of the other side of the room-divider curtain, looks at us and goes, "She's drinking an orange soda!"

Her soft-drink transgression was just the beginning. The next morning, as the nurses who serviced both the roommate and Jen were taking Jen's vitals, the roommate, who was hidden by only a flimsy curtain, chowed down on some KFC that her boyfriend had lovingly delivered to her earlier that morning. Though the curtain kept her secret out of sight, I'd venture a guess that the nurses could somehow sense her disobedience as the thick aroma of fried chicken filled the room.

Later, when Jen's dad was visiting, he boasted of his abilities to woo anyone into giving him free food while asking us if we wanted any soda or anything from the nurses station. Since he's kind of a loud guy, Jen's roommate overheard and called over to ask if he could get her a bag of chips. Jen and I hurriedly whispered that she's not supposed to have anything by mouth, but the damage was done. Thinking quickly, Jen's dad walked into the hall and went "This woman wants some chips? ....Oh, she's not supposed to eat anything? Oh, alright." And came back to explain that the nurses had told him that the roommate wasn't allowed to eat anything by mouth. Though the roommate protested, he explained rather sincerely that he didn't want to do anything to mess her up and that he was really sorry.

Two days later, she checked herself out of the hospital after refusing to let anyone even check to see if she needed surgery. After all, surgery would have required a much longer stay in the hospital and, though they had pain medication, the hospital's food service couldn't compare to her fine, fast-food cuisine.

Doublecrossed

When the Pennysaver came in the mail a few days ago, I was at our kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle from The Catonsville Times that was proving to be too much of a challenge for my inexperienced little brain. Eager to move on to something a bit less strenuous, I turned to the crossword in the Pennysaver. The great thing about this crossword is - it has the answers upside-down on the bottom of the page so that when I've exhausted all the answers I can come up with, I can give a quick check, fill in a word or two, and see if those extra letters help me figure out other words.

Let me take this moment to say - I'm not very good at crossword puzzles, so when I come to a clue that I definitely know, it's really exciting for me. This was the case with 8-across: a four-letter word for "The radiant glow around the head of a saint." I confidently penned in "HALO" and moved on.

Later, while trying to figure out the answer to 11-down - a three-letter word for "helps small business" (or something like that) - which shares its last letter with "HALO" of 8-across, I take a peek at the answer key. "SBA" it says...and I pause. Halo doesn't end in an A...

So I check their answer for 8-across. They've put "AURA."
...What?!

I apologize, Pennysaver-crossword authors, but auras are not "the radiant glow around the head of a saint." That would be the definition of a halo, and though similar to an aura, the two are not alike enough to share the same crossword clue.

To be sure, I checked Dictionary.com and they have defined an aura as:

1.	a distinctive and pervasive quality or character; air; atmosphere: an aura of respectability; an aura of friendliness.

2.	a subtly pervasive quality or atmosphere seen as emanating from a person, place, or thing.

3.	Pathology. a sensation, as of lights or a current of warm or cold air, preceding an attack of migraine or epilepsy.

Somehow, "a subtly pervasive quality or atmosphere seen as emanating from a person, place, or thing" doesn't quite seem the same as "the radiant glow around the head of a saint."

But maybe that's just me.