Dear Telemarketer, caller ID: “800 Service,” who persists against my most vigilant efforts at ignoring your call:

Your determination is admirable. Truly, a motivational speaker could use you as an example of Not Giving Up—the quality one must possess if one does not also possess unusual talent and/or impeccable connections. I’ve not given you a single indication that I’ll ever pick up, and yet you still call, trying out different times and days to see if perhaps you might catch me unawares. That perhaps I might be expecting a call and might answer without checking the caller ID. Or perhaps I have a demanding job and am only at home after 9:00 on Friday nights. No? Well, then you’ll try 9:00 Saturday morning. And then at 5:00 the same Saturday afternoon.

It began with a call every other day or so. Then you increased your attempts to once a day. Now it’s multiple times every day. I have not once answered. My faithful answering machine picks up every time, and says the exact same thing every time. I’m considering changing it from its benign “Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible” (you always listen to the whole message, but never leave one of your own) to something more obvious. Like, “Hey, if you have something I want, then you’ll leave a message and I’ll call you back. Otherwise, stop calling me!” But I fear even that wouldn’t deter you. Because you know you don’t have something I want, but are convinced that if you could get me on the phone, your stunning script would wow me into submission, persuading me to agree to whatever service or product you’re harking. Or, that with your celebrated persistence you’ll just annoy me long enough that I’ll agree to anything just to get you to leave me alone.

I’ll tell you now, whatever it is, I’m not interested. I don’t need a Discover Business Card. I don’t want a home equity loan or mortgage protection insurance or a free trip to Bermuda. The timeshares Hilton keeps wanting to show us? We don’t qualify for the minimum income level to see them. So, I can assure you that you’re wasting your time. And I am screening every call. Every time you call, I get a little more annoyed. Most of the time, I’m hoping to hear from a friend, and then I go to the phone, and it’s you! You! So, please, I’m begging you. Give up. Move on. Because the next time you call, I just may be tempted to answer…

Today, I went to the doctor for malaria meds and to make sure I’m current on all my vaccines. Because I got about four million shots last year, I only had to get flu shots this year. My arms still feel tired and wimpy. Come on, arms, have you no memory? This was nothing!

I also snagged a prescription for Cipro but was warned that the drug can cause ruptured tendons and major birth defects. !!!! But there’s a possibility I might be allergic to the alternative drug. The frustrating thing is there’s no way to know until I take the medicine. My mom had a serious reaction to this drug—we’re talking an in-the-hospital, get-ready-to-meet-Jesus reaction—so I’m kind of petrified of trying it. Especially in the middle of Africa with questionable access to healthcare. But, ruptured tendons… Well, I’ve got a couple months to think it over.

Speaking of which, as far as I know the tickets have been purchased! We’re flying out of Raleigh at 6:15 the morning of May 18^th. That’s exactly three months from today. Which seems like a long time, but time has a way of passing quickly.

Right now, I’m taking a break from cleaning the floors, and I’ve got Congolese music blasting (it’s great cleaning music) in the living room. I’m enjoying the trip preparation more this time around, mostly because the element of surprise has been lessened. Because once the line has been crossed once, it feels easier to cross the second time. Well, having to get only two shots helps, too.

Let me just say that Jesse and I have excellent timing. Case in point: When is a great time to argue about money? How about in the car, on the way to a marriage retreat in Myrtle Beach, on Valentine’s weekend? Seemed ideal to us, and so we fussed and griped and pouted and sulked our way out of Wilmington and right into the conference. Fortunately, our friends were there to distract us and give us some time to cool off. And then, I suppose our timing isn’t so bad after all—we had two days of nearly nonstop instruction and “homework” to make us think about our marriage and all the things that work well about it. By Saturday morning, things were suitably smoothed over and we were on our way back to grinny again.

However, as I was going to sleep on Friday night, I realized to my great horror that I had neglected to pack my makeup. Now, for some of my friends who have abundant natural beauty, this would not be a panic-inducing realization. Moi? I had nightmares (literally—dreamed all night about makeup) and resolved not to go to the Saturday sessions at all unless makeup could be procured. Yes, that is the extent of my vanity. I’d rather leave home without underwear, or clean socks, or even a hair dryer (okay, the hair dryer would be upsetting too).

This is how you know you have a true friend. You call her at 6:30 on a Saturday morning at a marriage retreat (which she’s also attending with her hubby) to tell her you’ve left your makeup at home, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “Do you want to use mine?” and the second thing she says is, “I’m packing it up right now for you.” Kara Shaw, I swear, is an angel. I promised her one of my kidneys, should she ever find herself in need. (And what’s even better is she does Mary Kay, so she has really awesome makeup.)

Sunday, I decided to put forth serious effort into the whole “day of rest” concept. I didn’t check my email once. I stayed in bed after I woke up, then I got out of bed to read and then fall asleep again. Jesse surprised me with a scavenger hunt with rhyming clues that led me to Jelly Belly jellybeans (my favorite), a dozen long-stemmed roses, and a sweet card. Fight? What fight? He’s the best.

Today was spent on errands and laundry and a Jamie Oliver recipe (my favorite) for dinner. Oh, and did you know? It snowed here Friday night. When we were in Myrtle Beach. Gah! The good news? It also snowed in Myrtle Beach. What a sight—to stand on a hotel balcony and look at the ocean, waves pounding a beach covered in a blanket of the purest snow. We couldn’t stay mad.

How awesome is Jamie Oliver? Super awesome. Awesome awesome. That’s how awesome.

Got up at 5:40 this morning. (See? I’m too tired to even begin that sentence with “I.”) Had a busy day lined up and wanted to get a few hours of writing in before it officially started. Hopefully my early-morning writing abilities exceed my early-morning typing, talking, moving, and thinking abilities.

I spent the rest of the day, the non-writing part, chasing a two-year-old, running errands, and paying bills. I hate paying bills. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I hate paying bills when we have so little money. I rather enjoy the nuts and bolts of the bill-paying experience, the writing of the checks, the updating of the checkbook register, the simple math I feel entirely capable of doing. It’s therapeutically simple. Until I see the number to the far right going down…down…down, and I’m mentally tallying the bills that are still to be paid this month. Fabulous.

I’d say chocolate would be in order, except I read on the New York Times website today that the mood-lifting properties of chocolate are exaggerated. “One… study showed that a 130-pound person would have to eat 25 pounds of chocolate in one sitting to significantly alter the mood.”

And the problem is…what exactly?

I think I’d better go get some caffeine instead, though. The light’s fading and I’m fading with it, and I’m meeting some girlfriends (if I were not aging, I’d probably use the term “gal pals,” but heck, thirty’s coming fast) for fondue at 8:45 tonight and I’d like to be awake for that. If possible.

We spent a whirlwind weekend in Charlotte, house hunting for my aunt, who is moving from San Francisco to Charlotte and needs a place to rent for half a year or so. If house hunting is difficult, just try doing it for someone else! Yipes! The pressure was kind of intense, even though Joannie’s instructions were something along the lines of “As soon as you find a clean house in a decent neighborhood, just stop and go do something fun.” We couldn’t take the advice, though—and by “we,” I mean “me”—we had to pour over listings online first, swapping emails with a realtor who was kind enough to help us out, even though he’s basically not getting any money off this deal. The prospect of a future sale and the referral from Jesse’s dad were the only reason we got through the door in the first place.

At any rate, Jesse and I spent half the day on Saturday driving around kind of aimlessly, waiting for the rental company to get back to our realtor so he could get the codes to show us the houses. We snagged some wraps from a Trader Joe’s and ate them in the car, sharing a little jug of orange juice and finishing the meal with a couple of old chocolates the store had been giving away, pretending they were for the Superbowl, when really it was obvious they were just leftovers from Christmas.

Then, around 2:00 we finally got to see the first house. We spent the next several hours inspecting place after place, taking note of the carpet and the location of the laundry rooms, the noise levels, the quality of neighborhoods, and so on. I took notes on a little pad of paper, and after each house Jesse and I spoke our thoughts into a voice recorder. At the end of the day, we had settled on the two best possibilities, and we sent notes and pictures to my aunt. Now we wait and see…

So far this week, I’ve just been at home, doing chores and writing. Yesterday I went through some of my kitchen drawers, getting rid of things I never use and making room for some new gadgets from the Pampered Chef party. I washed everything—all the tools in the drawers, all the utensils in the holder next to the stove. I washed the cabinet doors. Then, I did laundry and baked this bread. Just call me Susie Homemaker! (By the way, you absolutely must try the bread recipe—it was freakishly delicious.)

Today I’ve spent the day writing. And reading about writing. And writing some more. I’ve got some shrimp thawing for dinner, and I’ve discovered this blog, which has me transfixed (the author survived a plane crash and is rebuilding her life and finding joy in the simple things—I found it via The Thin Chef, which also introduced me to the no-knead bread recipe, so bonus points to Kate for finding awesome things!).

Tomorrow my respite ends, as there are children to watch and groceries to buy and another Pod meeting to plan. But before that, I’ve got dinner, and small group, and LOST. Good day.

If I were a black man, I would want my hair to look exactly like this:

Look at it in action:

Wow! It flies! Wouldn’t you want hair that could do that?