On Saturday, I had the distinct privilege of going school shopping with my parents and Jamie, an ordeal that lasted for many, many hours. Shopping with anyone in my family tends to be a test of patience and endurance not unlike climbing a mountain, except that if the mountain were our shopping trips, instead of getting to the top and feeling that exhilarating sense of success, you’d get halfway to the top and then you’d fall off the mountain and die.

When I met them at the mall, they’d already been shopping for two or three hours at that point. We had to wait for a million trillion hours for Jamie to get her hair cut by a barely-English-speaking woman who cut Jay’s hair about as well as I would cut it if I grabbed it in my fist and hacked at it with a butterknife. And then there was all this dispute about how the haircut was one price, but drying it was extra, but since Jamie has long hair drying it would be even more, and all in all the shitty haircut was going to end up costing like $50. So instead, my parents, who were totally grouchy at this point, paid for just the cut, no tip, and Jamie didn’t get her hair dried or styled at all. She’s lucky her hair is long and thick and wavy, because you can’t tell that it’s a little jagged on the ends.

So Jamie’s walking along all teeth-chattery with dripping wet hair. It looked like her “stylist” hadn’t even towel-dried it (that probably costs extra). Tangent: can I just say that I must be spoiled, because I go to a reasonably upscale (for this area) salon, and I get my hair shampooed, cut, dried, and styled for about $40? And that’s with the master stylist at this particular salon. Some of the other stylists charge less, but they’re never going to treat you like you’re burdening them if you get your damn hair dried. I think this charging-extra-for-drying business is bullshit.

ANYWAY. Then we had to go looking for jeans.

It seems like everyone I know has trouble finding the right pair of jeans. My sisters and I are all built differently, and each of us has different problems when shopping for jeans.

Tangent #2: A few weeks ago, we had a conversation about our body shapes while sitting in the drive-thru line at Arby’s. We decided that I’m an hourglass, Ginny is an apple, and Sammi is a pear. Jamie’s like, so what am I? And we thought about it, and we decided that she’s a cheesestick. Because she’s short and straight. And cheesy.

Back to the mall. They don’t make a lot of jeans for cheesesticks, so we knew we’d probably have to go to several places. I suggested we start at Gap, since they have a lot of styles and lengths, and their jeans often go on sale. We went in there and Jamie tried on a million pairs of jeans, and none of them worked. So off we went to American Eagle.

One of the reasons shopping with my family is difficult is because we all have issues. I get stressed out in crowds, and often have to leave stores that are too crowded or I sometimes have ugly little anxiety attacks. My dad’s back bothers him terribly when he’s been walking a lot, so he has to stop and rest and he gets progressively more uncomfortable. Mom hates shopping and is easily distracted, so we tend to lose her in stores. Ever since I was a little kid, I’d tell her about fifty times to stay right where she was when I went into the fitting room. And inevitably, I’d come out to show her what I’d tried on and she’d be gone.

Trying on three items turns into this lengthy elaborate process, because you put the first pair of jeans on and then you go out and go looking for Mom, and then you drag her back to the fitting room and tell her to stay right there, no, RIGHT THERE DO NOT MOVE, and you race back into the fitting room and strip off your jeans and stumble into the next pair as fast as you can, and by the time you get back out to model she’s halfway across the store, so you have to decide if you’re going to stand there and scream, “MOOOOOOOOOOOM!” and have half the people in the store stare at you, or if you’re going to go streaking across the store in bare feet to get her, and have the other half of the people in the store stare at you, and by the time you get to the third pair of jeans you sometimes just drag her into the room with you, because that’s the only way you can be sure she won’t take off while you’re trying on that stupid third pair of jeans that you never wanted to try on anyway, and you really want the first pair but she barely looked at them because she was distracted by something shiny, and when she did look at them, she flatly proclaimed, “They look dirty,” and your dreams were crushed into tiny pieces. And then she turns out to like the pair you hate and then you cry in the middle of the store and it’s a big scene and she wants to take a cartoon pencil eraser and just erase your whole head so you’ll shut up already.

So, of course, Jamie liked the dirty jeans at AE best. And my parents have this bizarre, vehement, earth-scorching hate of the dirty jeans. Every time they’d see a pair, they’d just go off on a “kids these days” tangent that lasted for years, like why would people pay ACTUAL MONEY for jeans that looked like they were run over by a truck, and sure, Jamie could have the dirty jeans if the people at AE would wash them first and seriously, did you know that the jeans are dirty? Because those jeans? They’re dirty. They’re DIRTY!

Dad did specifically ask me to mention in this post that when we walked in to AE, he told one of the salesgirls that someone came in and got their jeans all dirty, and the salesgirl played right along and told him that someone ran in and dirtied them all up before anyone could do anything about it. It was actually pretty funny, if you were there.

Mom also hates the torn-up jeans, because, in her words, they weren’t “earned.” Because, see, back in her hippie days, it was cool to buy a pair of new jeans and wear them until they fell apart, and it gave you some kind of hippie cred, but now you can buy the jeans already falling apart, which is not only stupid and a waste of money, but actually cheapens your life.

My parents also won’t spend more than $50 on a pair of jeans, which is fine, because I won’t either, but Mom gets heart palpitations from $40 jeans as well, and will only grudgingly pay $30 for a pair of jeans.

So these are the limitations we face when trying to find Jamie at least one good pair of jeans.

It was all worth it, though, because after trying on about fifty pairs of jeans at American Eagle, Jay found a couple of pairs that fit her little cheesestick body beautifully, were neither dirty nor torn, and cost – wait for it – $29.50. Which is less than $30. So that’s totally fine and great. And then they went to Aeropostale (while I waited outside on a bench because Aeropostale is too crowded and gives me hives) and Jamie actually picked out a skirt all on her own.

It might have been the most successful school shopping excursion ever. Not everything was perfect, though, so maybe instead of making it halfway up the mountain before falling off and dying, we made it three-quarters of the way up.

Is it too early for a theme with pumpkins? I really like pumpkins.

Okay, it just occurred to me that my list of unfinished drafts is getting out of control. And so I decided that I’d post all six of the unfinished drafts exactly as I left them, so that when I’m posthumously famous, you can read this crap and find some unintended hidden genius in them.

So, yeah. These are all as is, including the draft titles. Enjoy. Or not. Whatever.

1. Eat Me, Adelphia from 6/27/05
   In the course of moving a mere 50 miles, I have had to make literally dozens of phone calls for all kinds of reasons. I needed to change addresses. I needed to set up utilities. I needed to make financial arrangements. I needed to meet with my landlord. I needed to hammer down the moving date with the previous tenant. No, I really did need utilities. I needed to double-check on whether I’d have utilities. Triple-check. Repeat. This kind of sucked, because while I have no problem actually speaking on the phone once I’m on it, I have a tremendous and bizarre aversion to actually making phone calls. But the process was made somewhat easier by the fact that, as I think I’ve mentioned before, every single CSR I spoke with, without exception, was so pleasant and friendly and patient that it shocked me.

   It shocked me so much that I found myself chatting with these people, talking about the weather forcryingoutloud, saying I didn’t mind being put on hold for fifteen minutes and meaning it – even secretly making wedding plans with one of them until his weird verbal tics broke the secret deal.

   And then today I called Adelphia.

2. together we can be one from 6/29/05
   The cops/movies story won in a landslide, and that story will be coming. Soon. I hope I haven’t built it up so much that it totally deflates in the telling – that happens sometimes.

   I spent most of yesterday in a miserable feverish ball on my couch. That pretty much sucked. I’m feeling better today but still keep getting that TOO HOT! ohmygodtoocold thing. Okay. Onward.

   I’m skipping the cops/movies story for the moment because I’ve been wanting to write about the ONE Campaign, and I feel like right now is the time to do it.

   Sammi and I first learned about the ONE Campaign during the U2 concert we attended in Philadelphia in May. It definitely sounded intriguing, and of course in the rush of joy and wonder of being at that concert, it sounded like the greatest idea in the world. As a professional fundraiser, though, I don’t tend to throw myself behind causes without learning all I can about them first – so we came home and I gave it a few days and I proceeded to do a lot of reading about the campaign.

   The ONE Declaration sums up the goals of the campaign nicely:

   “WE BELIEVE that in the best American tradition of helping others help themselves, now is the time to join with other countries in a historic pact for compassion and justice to help the poorest people of the world overcome AIDS and extreme poverty. WE RECOGNIZE that a pact including such measures as fair trade, debt relief, fighting corruption and directing additional resources for basic needs – education, health, clean water, food, and care for orphans – would transform the futures and hopes of an entire generation in the poorest countries, at a cost equal to just one percent more of the US budget. WE COMMIT ourselves – one person, one voice, one vote at a time – to make a better, safer world for all.”

3. Consider This from a really pissed-off 7/13/05
   If you took “conservative” and “liberal” or “Republican” and “Democrat” and replaced them with “Christian” and “Jew” or “Jew” and “Muslim” or “Muslim” and “Christian” or whatever warring faiths you choose and reread some of these PAC emails and op-ed articles and talking points and blog posts with those words in place of the originals, would that be okay?

   Most likely it wouldn’t. You might even find yourself

4. Dog Days from a sad 8/12/05
   There’s been a lot going on lately, but I haven’t found myself with very much to say.

   Ginny is moving to Harrisonburg as we speak. In fact, just a while ago, she sent me a cameraphone picture of the cars stopped for miles and miles on the interstate. She and the rest of my family had been sitting in dead stopped traffic for more than a half an hour when I spoke to them at lunch time. Everyone else is helping her move this afternoon, and then tonight, Dad and Jamie and Sammi are coming back to Roanoke, and Mom and Ginny are staying in Harrisonburg. Originally, my plan was to go home tonight, go with Dad and Jay and Sam to Jamie’s tournament tomorrow, and then Sammi and I would go to Harrisonburg tomorrow or Sunday to help out. It’s a busy enough weekend on its own, but now, I have something else planned as well.

   Two of my favorite friends ever are the owners of quite possibly the coolest dog on the planet. Seriously, everyone who knows Jackson loves him and thinks he’s just the greatest dog ever. He looks like Petey from Little Rascals and he’s smart and dumb at the same time and he has the hardest head in the universe and he has major separation anxiety and he’s a perpetual puppy and we just love him.

   This week, my friends noticed that Jackson was acting strangely, and he began to have some sudden, frightening symptoms that led to an emergency vet visit, and to the eventual conclusion that he has a brain tumor. In the meantime, his health has deteriorated very quickly, and my friends made the difficult decision

5. Post #473 from 8/15/05
   Brief memory: during my senior year of college, my erratic orbit around the English department brought me into contact for a short while with Lawrence Evans, one of the best professors and most understanding people I’ve ever known. Sadly, Professor Evans suffered a stroke near the end of the quarter, and another professor in the department had to pick up his work while he was hospitalized. I had a meeting with the interim professor in which I explained that I had been diagnosed with depression and had missed a lot of classes and work while I was ill, but that I had been working closely with Professor Evans and my doctors to make up the coursework I had missed. This new professor, whose name I don’t remember, asked me if I’d considered exercise therapy to treat the depression. I remember being kind of offended, for some reason, as I explained that I worked out regularly in addition to journalling, taking medication, talk therapy, and every single other thing my doctors had recommended. I remember walking out of his office thinking that despite all the degrees on his wall, this man was an idiot — because on bad days, I could barely get out of bed, much less go for a fucking run. Many people find themselves unmotivated to exercise. Most people living with depression find themselves unmotivated to do anything at all.
6. These Are The Eyes of Disarray from 8/25/05
   I finally went to the doctor, and now I’m sitting here with a higher dosage of Wellbutrin zipping around in my veins. We’ll see how that goes.

   We talked about my headaches and sleepiness, and he began to come to the conclusion that I might have sleep apnea. It’s something I’ve honestly never considered before, although others in my family have it.

And there you have it. Now I’m going to go dry my hair and get dressed and head to the family headquarters for a while.

Today was the annual academic year opening breakfast at work, and as such, it’s time for us all to begin the transition away from business casual attire back to straight-up business attire. I always have some difficulty with this transition, because I tend to be resistant to suits, closed-toe shoes, and other such things when I’ve been wearing kitten-heeled slides and cropped pants and such all summer. Besides, although it’s much cooler today than it has been recently, it’s still summer-warm, so it’s always a challenge for me to find something to wear that’s appropriately businesslike for the opening breakfast, but still airy enough for a hot summer day.

I thought about my trusty Ann Taylor brown pants, but they just seemed too – well, too brown this morning, and I also noticed that the lining was torn when I was getting them out, and that would have bugged me all day. I’m not sure how that happened. Oh, wait, I remember now. MY GIANT ASS ATE A HOLE IN THE LINING LAST WINTER. Anyway. Does anyone know if you can replace the lining in a pair of dress pants, or if I should just give them up? Because my ass isn’t quite so giant these days, and has promised to stop eating pants.

So the brown pants were out, which left me with fall-weight gray pants, winter-weight gray pants, or one of four pairs of inferior black dress-not-suit pants. I have done absolutely no fall shopping yet this year, because I’ve been spending most of my money buying stuff for the house. What’s wrong with those four pairs of pants, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you:

1. The first pair of black pants is for fat days. The waist is a little too high, and the legs are a little too straight (I prefer a boot cut), and miraculously, they’re a bit too big right now, and would only work with something like a big sweater.
2. The second pair of black pants is too long, and the pockets are too poochy, and they collect lint like strippers collect dollar bills. They’re also a tiny bit big, which would be fine if it weren’t so damn annoying.
3. The third pair fits well enough, I suppose, except for the fact that they’re too damn long. Like, way too long. Oh, and there’s that poochy pocket thing. Seriously, aren’t I old enough by now to find a tailor who can shorten my pants and sew the pockets closed? Evidently not.
4. I didn’t expect the fourth pair to fit, but remarkably, they turned out to be the best pair for today. They’re kind of low-rise, with a nice boot-cut leg, and smooth pockets. These pants have a magical ability to make me look either horrible or hot, depending on what I wear with them. The fact that they don’t magically make me look hot every single day is the main reason they continue to be inferior. Oh, and I don’t love the fabric. Sometimes it’s too casual.

So, yeah. I ended up with the #4 black pants and the fabulous $120 pointy shoes that I actually got for more like $20, and then I had to find something to wear on top.

After a lot of thinking and trying on six different tops, I reached into the closet and pulled out this pseudo-Asian wrap shirt that I haven’t worn in ages. It looked good over a camisole, and the end result was reasonably professional, so I kept it on, but not without some initial apprehension. It’s pretty – lightweight black cotton with a colorful print of flowers and leaves and stuff, and it’s flattering, too. But I’ve only worn it about four times since I bought it.

I bought this blouse on sale in February of 2004, and wore it for the first time a few weeks later, on March 1st. I remember this, of course, because the evening of March 1st is when Ginny had her car accident. All day I’d been walking around feeling like a badass in this shirt.

I’d been working out when we got the news, and didn’t want to go to the hospital in my tank top and jogging shorts. When I went into my room to change, I looked at this shirt, and ultimately decided to wear a hoodie instead.

I didn’t wear the wrap shirt again for a long, long time.

In fact, this is probably the first time I’ve worn it and not spent the entire day thinking about the accident, although I guess I’ve thought about it a little more than I usually do. It’s funny how things can bring memories back. I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it today, so maybe it’ll become a positive thing for me again.