Musings

I like to fantasize about living in NYC someday. Just for a while. Which is why I'm in love with this blog. Seriously, visit it. It's marvelous.

I signed up for eHarmony. It's true. I'm having a love/hate relationship with it right now. It all feels very meat market-y. And I mentioned in my profile that I was hard of hearing. Full disclosure, you know. I think that scares people away. Meh. If God is bigger than the boogie man, then He's surely bigger than this.

Also, on eHarmony, there's a section where I'm supposed to tell what I'm passionate about. Do you know what other people write? Things like ministry and teaching underprivileged kids and staying fit and spending time with their families. Do you know what I am passionate about? Chocolate, friends. Bedtime. Keeping my apartment clean. Figuring out how to stretch a dollar and a meal at the grocery store. Helping people. Mom things. Wife things. How does one convey that on a dating website without sounding like all I want to do is hang out in the kitchen and clip coupons all day? While barefoot and pregnant, of course. :p

My car has been put to good use the last week or so. Between making a Costco run and carting people around the city, Amelia definitely held her own. I'm really so thankful to actually be of use now - a car that's comfortable for people to sit in and big enough (and yes, gasp, uncluttered enough!) to be filled to the brim just seems to open more doors for ministry than a tiny one that I alone can barely squeeze into. Okay, that was an exaggeration. I could fit people into my old car - if you are into that clowns packed into a circus car kind of thing. ;-)

I got a sample of infant formula in the mail the other day. And by "sample," I mean box. As in a small box with one large round container (12.6 oz. Yup, I goggled the heck out of it) of infant formula (the "sensitive" kind, for those with lactose intolerances, you know) and a rectangle-shaped container (1.45lbs. Whoa, mama) of formula (specially fortified with vitamin D, dontcha know?). I'm really just stupefied as to how that happened... somebody, somewhere seems to think I have or am about to have a small child. And somebody, somewhere is severely confuzzled. OR it's a sign from God that I'm to be with child, immaculate-style. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Annnnd that wraps up this post. Thanks for bearing with my random quirkiness, loves!

I can't make this stuff up

Tuesday afternoon. I'm trying to call the bank. They called me Friday to say that they needed a copy of my registration (I took out an auto loan and so they are listed on the title as the lien holder) with the mileage on it because it wasn't on the one they have. OR SOMETHING. Whatevs. Anyway, I had finally gotten the registration, scanned it and made it a PDF. I was trying to call them back to see if I could just email it to them.

Me: (Ring, ring.)

Bank: "Hi, this is Name."

Me: "Hi, this is Lucy Last Name. You called last week about my auto loan."

Bank: "That's correct."

Me: "Okay, I have a copy of my registration like you needed and I've made it into a PDF. Could I just email it to you? What's your email address?"

Bank: "No, no, no. We need a copy of your title."

Me: (confuzzled) "I don't have my title. You're the lien holder. You should have it."

Bank: "No, the state of Kansas retains the title. We need a copy of your title or registration to complete the information. Do you have the title?"

Me: (you just told me that Kansas retains the title!) "No, I do not have a copy of the title. What I do have is a receipt. I just had to renew my tags this month so I have the receipt from that. Can I email it to you? What's your email address?"

Bank: "No, no, no. We need the title. You do not have a copy of it, correct?"

Me: (YOU JUST TOLD ME THE THAT KANSAS RETAINS THE TITLE) "No, I do not."

Bank: "Well, do you have the registration?"

Me: (GOOD. LORD. Are you on crack?) "YES, I have the registration. I have scanned it and converted it into a PDF on my computer. It's ready to go."

Bank: "Why don't you email it, then?"

Me: (speaking just a little slower than I really need to) "Because. I. Need. Your. Email. Address."

Face, meet palm.