So here I am, typing away on my sister's computer. I took the road less traveled and rearranged my work schedule so I could get into town last night instead of waiting to drive in on Sunday. I would have arrived earlier in the evening, but, well, has anyone ever seen First Wave? I only saw first season episodes, so I don't know how it ended, but I know those aliens are after me. As I was trying to leave town, one of my car's tires decided that it was tired of being full of air. I didn't get on the road for another three hours.

Now, truth be told, it's lucky that this happened before I left town. It's lucky that someone noticed that the tire looked rather sickly before I got on the interstate. I just can't help shaking that "there's a conspiracy against me" feeling sometimes. However, I am well aware of the fact that the situation would have been much worse had the tire blown/exploded/flattened/etc. an hour or so into the drive.

Since that wasn't enough fun, I decided to have an even bigger adventure. Using directions my sister printed from Mapquest, I drove to a house I had never been to before. The problem was, my sister neglected to give me the return directions. No problem, just reverse the directions, right? The problem is, I don't always have an easy time reversing directions, plus I lost the directions somewhere in my car.

I took a personal moment, reminded myself that there were only two short turns out of the subdivisions before the long stretch of road that would get me to where I wanted to be. No problem. Easy. Three miles later, I was listening to Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas and feeling confident. I was so happy and proud that little old directionally-challenged me was finding my way without directions. And then... it happened.

My first clue that something was wrong was when I passed by a "Welcome to {Name} County" sign. I had started the drive in one county, knew I was heading to a house in the same county, and was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to leave the county. I called my sister.

ME: "Hi. Um... am I supposed to be in {Name} county?" There was a slight pause.
HER: "I don't think so."
ME: "Well, I just passed a 'Welcome to Name} County sign."
HER: "Where are you?"
ME: "I don't know. Wait... there's a split! I don't know where to go! Crap!"
HER: "Are you on {Name of Street}?"
ME: "I don't know! Crap! I think I just went off an exit I wasn't supposed to!"
HER: "Didn't you stay on {Name of Street}?"
ME: "I don't know! No!!! I'm coming to two turn only lanes! Do I turn right or left?"
HER: "Where are you?"
ME: "I'm about to turn onto {Name of Different Street}!"
HER: "What street are you on now?"
ME: "I don't know!!"
HER: "Well, I can't help you if I don't know what street you're on."
ME: "I'm about to turn onto {Name of Different Street}. There's a Waffle House and an Exxon gas station. Do I turn right or left?"
HER: "I'm sorry, if I don't know where you are I can't help you. Call Aba." {Aba is Hebrew for father)

I pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House and made the call. The problem was, he also wasn't quite sure where I was. I asked a Waffle House employee for the address and gave it to my father, but he was unable to find the directions on Mapquest. He ended up giving me directions to the exit closest to the house I used to live in. He wanted to give me highway directions to my sister's house, but I opted for the "horse to a stable" approach and drove the way I used to drive when I lived in that house.

So here I am, finally. I stopped for gas and went inside to get a milkshake. I was so riled up that I spend five or so minutes staring at the various frozen concoctions before opting for a gas-station-quality frozen cappuccino combined with whatever a frozen steamed milk drink is.

I got lost less than 4 miles away from my destination. Is it any wonder that driving is far from being my favorite activity?

The copy machine at the school I broke into this morning is not a Xerox machine. I'm not quite sure what it is, as it appears to have two names on it, but I know it's not a Xerox brand.

 It's amazing how brand names creep into everyday speech. It's interesting how some make it and some don't. Some make sense. For example, Band-Aid. Band-Aid is a brand. All plastic/fabric bandages are not Band-Aids, yet I think it's fair to assume that a large majority of people refer to these items as Band-Aids. Asking for a Band-Aid is a lot quicker than asking for a thin, elongated plastic bandage. You could just ask for a bandage, but then people might think you needed something a lot more heavy-duty.

I call tissues "tissues." I call them tissues no matter what brand they are. Even if I'm using Kleenex brand tissues, I call them tissues. That's what they are. However, I know that many people will say something like, "Can you pass me a Kleenex?" rather than "Can you pass me a tissue?" I'm not quite sure why. I don't think anyone ever asks for toilet paper by a brand name.

Oh, and for those of you still gaping about the "school I broke into this morning" thing... My mother has report cards that are due today. She decided to go see if anyone was at the school so that she could use the computers there. I tagged along to see if I could use a computer as well. We pulled up to the front of the school and saw one car in the parking lot. "Go see if the door is open," my mother told me. Ever the dutiful daughter, I pushed on the door, not expecting it to be unlocked. To my surprise, the door swung inwards. I turned around to tell my mother that the door was open when suddenly.... BEEP! pause BEEP! pause BEEP! pause Uh-oh.

 "It's beeping! I just broke into {Name of School}!," I cried.

 "Don't joke about something like that!," she scolded. She called the principal and told him that we heard beeping but that the alarm wasn't going off. I tried to tell her that the beeping is what happens before an alarm goes off, but no one ever listens to me. Five seconds after she hung up the phone, the alarm began to wail. She called the principal again and got the code to turn off the alarm. We entered the school, turned on the computers, and got to work. My mother did real work. I did "work" with my sister for an online group she belongs to {insert grammatically incorrect red flag here}.

OK, so I didn't really break into the school. The door was open. In order to break and enter, you actually need to break something. I just pushed a door. It's not my fault that somebody forget to push the door hard enough to lock it. I didn't even enter, because as soon as I heard the beeping I made a hasty retreat.

Now try convincing the SWAT team that it's ok for you to be the only one at a school on a Sunday morning. Fine, so there were only two SWAT guys. Plus, I had my mother talk to them. After all, it was her bright idea to have me break into the school. They told her to come outside and turn around to be handcuffed. I guess SWAT members think they have a sense of humor. Actually, I did find it funny; my mother did not.

 Don't worry, neither one of us is spending the night in jail. Everything is fine.

And that's how/why I broke into a school this morning.

The school year is just about over.  I'm looking forward to no longer needing to answer the question, "When will you be coming?" or "When will you be ready" with the answer, "It depends on when the last parent picks arrives."  If things work out, I'll be working at a camp, but I know they have a concrete late fee policy.

Why do I have to have spaces between my paragraphs?  Why are we going through the level 0% thing again?  Why doesn't a certain editor accept/reject submissions?  It took him forever to look at my submissions a few months ago and it's happening again.  Of course, I never knew for sure that he was accepting my submissions.  He hasn't had a new blog or a forum post for six months, so I have the sneaking suspicion he isn't around very much (possibly isn't around at all.)

Before, I e-mailed him and asked him to look at my submissions.  I figured that he might not check his queue regularly because this is a show that's been off the air for over 30 years and is not available on DVD.  Now, it's easy to see whether or not there are any submissions waiting in the queue.  No one should have to be e-mailed to be told.

Why does the Evil Library System's computer network keep telling me that I only have a few minutes left?  I can look at the clock, thank-you very much.  The message just cuts out my time and breaks my concentration.

In other news, the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day.  Well, not exactly, but it sounds nice. :)

The following is an actual conversation I heard this weekend between an Orthodox rabbi's 5-year-old son and one of the congregants:

BOY: Do you have any kids? MAN: That depends on whether you mean the two-footed kind or the four-footed kind. BOY: What? MAN: I have two dogs. BOY: A boy and a girl? MAN: Yes, one boy and one girl. BOY: What are their names? MAN: Sophie and Jack. BOY: Are they big? MAN: Jack's bigger than Sophie.  Not that all girl dogs are smaller than boy dogs. BOY: Do you have a wife? MAN: No, I don't. BOY: Does anyone else stay at your house? MAN: The dogs live there. BOY: Do girls sleep over at your house? At this point I couldn't help myself from breaking into uncontrollable laughter.  When told what the boy had said, both of his parents were shocked and a bit embarrassed.  One leading theory is that the boy overheard a discussion about people needing to stay at someone's house.  Another theory is that he's beginning to figure out that not everyone has a family like he does.  All I know is that the next day he questioned someone else in a similar manner and wanted to know where one could find a wife.

Lady Ta'aluma's Not-So-Random-Question: What would you have answered the boy?

Yes, later I will tell you what the man actually said.

Apparently, getting a mini-makeover and then not showing people the new you for three weeks doesn't work out very well.  Three people noticed.  I gave one of them a hug.

What am I talking about?  Before I left for Florida, I lopped six inches off my hair and colored my naturally brown hair a temporary shade of red.  A few shampoos and 10 days of Florida sun later, the red has faded somewhat.  I have no clue what color to call my hair now.  Directly under the sun as well as artificial light, the reddish tint is obvious, but otherwise the change is not as noticeable (note: when I mention that I colored my hair, people instantly notice that it's redder.) However, six inches of hair!?  How can people not notice that?

I was thrown for a loop by what one person had to say about my new hairstyle. Upon seeing me for the first time upon my return home, she looked at me and said words that stunned me into saying, "What did you say?"  So she repeated the following words: "Your hair is getting long."  I nearly flipped out right there in the restaurant.  "What are you talking about, getting long?! I cut off six inches!"

I guess I'd have to cut my hair to shoulder-length and dye it blonde for anyone to notice. Oh well.

I just love translation differences.  For example, literally translated to English my blog title says: You Tell This.  It is the title of a song by an Israeli artist named Rami Kleinstein.  On long road trips, I bring various Andrew Lloyd Webber CDs as well as Billboard hits from ancient years such as 1984 plus whatever random CD I may have purchased or borrowed from the library that came out in the past 5-10 years.  My mother brings whatever Israeli CDs she's managed to come across one way or the other. 

The one CD I really like is Rami Kleinstein's "Tagid Et Zeh."  Today I researched the song online and was shocked to discover that the song is usually translated as "Say It."  I had been told that the title meant "Tell This."  "Tagid" is masculine for "you tell" while "tagidi" would be the feminine version.  When translated, the "you" is generally left out because, let's face it, it would sound pretty funny to translate everything beginning with "you (male)" or "you (female)."

Tagid = tell.  Zeh = this.  Hebrew does not have a word for "it."  Everything is either masculine or feminine.  "Mah zeh?" means "What is this?" not "What is it?"  Of course, the word "is" is added for translation purposes as there is no actual word for "is" in Hebrew.  "Is" is implied.  In contrast, the word "et" does not really have a translation.  It has a point and serves a function but the English language does not have a comparable word.  Long story short, "et" makes "tell this" sound a lot nicer in Hebrew.

This "Say It" business is baffling me.  "Say" is "amar" not "tagid." Saying something is similar to telling something, but there are differences.  When you say something, you are simply speaking outloud, relaying some sort of information. Telling something is more meaningful.  There's a reason we tell stories and don't say them.

For anyone interested in the lyrics of the song: http://www.hebrewsongs.com/song-tagidetzeh.htm .  It even has the lyrics translated into Spanish.  Any Spanish speakers out there?

I did not intend for this blog to be a translation information session.  Something someone said to me yesterday reminded me of this song's title, I researched the song just because, and then went on a rant about the way it way translated.  That will have to be a blog for another time.

Side note: I'm going to try to remember all of the weird, random questions that pop into my mind for no reason at all and post them here for you to answer.

Lady Ta'aluma's Random Related to Music Question: How many times in a row do you think the average person can listen to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody without going insane?

I don't usually notice the changes at TV.com, but since I'm noticing a few right now, I have to assume that more have been made.  I can't say that I care too much for the new main page or for have an icon for just about everything (a penny for one contribution?  Who stayed up all night coming up with that one?)

Member since... Has it been 10 months already?

Anyway... my dad dragged me off to Florida for 10 days.  Yes I know, poor poor me being forced to spend 10 days in the sun, boating, fishing, swimming, tanning, watching 20 episodes of Lost in 4 days (I didn't get to watch the last four episodes of season one! ::cries:: ) I have a lovely greenish bruise on my left arm to prove that I held a fishing pole for 3 consecutive hours and actually caught fish (plus the bottom of the boat one time!)  I also have a unique tan-line that proves this fact.  And I have a peeled nose that proves that yes, there are still people out there stupid enough to think that it's perfectly fine to spend 5 hours in the sun without applying sunblock to one's face.

And darn it, how many times do I have to remove a show from my list before it stays off?  Now that a ton of changes have been made, I'll give it another try.

Just a few days ago, I received the shock of my life. It happened while I was in precarious Twilight Zone border of my living room and the hallway. All I was doing was looking through the books I had just picked up from the library. And then... it happened. It made me run into the family room to get a small leaflet of papers. What I had discovered threw me for a loop, one I am still attempting to recover from. Many of the lyrics from the movie version of The Phantom of the Opera are not actually new; they already existed in 1988. I've been bashing the changes in the lyrics only to discover that a lot of them are not really new changes. The entirely different Think of Me existed in 1988. Of course, the whole chandelier-falls-at-the-end thing was changed and is still stupid, idiotic, dumb, etc. So I sat there in the hallway/living room and compared the differences between the words in The Phantom of the Opera: Easy Piano and the libretto that came with the CDs. The "new" lyrics are not new. I did not know this. I feel so ashamed. My world as I have known it has now come to an end. I have, however, managed to keep all three of my New Year's resolutions (mostly.) In the past few months, I have consumed more water than I did all of last year (possibly even combined with 2004). I have purchased the entire 80 issue run of Supergirl (1996) including the in-demand last five issues in actual comic book format, not the collected graphic novel! The mostly has to do with the third resolution, which either involved not working myself to death or no longer letting people walk all over me. I can't remember which one I said, but they're both equally valid. I now have several 4-workday-weeks and I have been attempting to present a more commanding presence. However... I insist on being a stickler to the state's laws and regulations regarding childcare. Apparently, several parents and at least one synagogue staff member don't feel the same way. I get it: it's the small community feel. We all know each other and feel safe. Wonderful. I know, I understand, I accept. But... the laws are there for a reason, and I can still be cited, fined, sued, etc. if things are not done properly. A discussion will be had with the director. Enough is enough. I am a teacher at a licensed preschool, not a 16-year-old babysitter on summer vacation. If I do not have a paper indicating that a certain person is allowed to pick up a child from the school, he/she is not allowed to remove the child from the room. I don't care if the child knows the person and this person is her music teacher and I don't care that they're only going across the hall. No means no. Taking the child while I stand there and say "No" undermines my authority and is violating my will and my right.

If I had a dollar for every time I asked this question on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday... How did this happen? I dressed up as Supergirl for Purim. I went to one synagogue one night, another one another night, plus we celebrated it at the preschool on Wednesday so I wore it then as well. Only two people knew right away that I was Supergirl, not Superman. Apparently, Superman wears a skirt and 3.5 inch heels. And, as one woman so openly and bluntly put it, if I was Superman, I was "Superman with a boob job." This is where the question "Do I look like a man to you!?" came into play. Last year, I wore an official, licensed, authentic "Supergirl" top, a red skirt, red boots, and a large skirt for a cape (this skirt nearly choked me to death multiple times.) This year, I decided to be smarter. Walking around nearly choking to death is no fun at all. I purchased two shiny, bright red tablecloths and turned one into a skirt and one into a cape (on Monday, the "skirt" gave me trouble and I ended up showing quite a bit more leg than I had intended to, on Tuesday and Wednesday I fastened it more securely and wore a real skirt under it.) Last year, everybody at the school I work at also said, "Superman." Since I live in the same subdivision, I went home, chose a Supergirl comic book, copied the cover, and taped the logo onto one of my sleeves. This year, I had thought about bringing a Supergirl comic book with me, but decided against it. I guess I should have brought it. Only one person paused and asked, "Are you Super... lady? Woman?" "Supergirl," I smiled. One person asked, "Are you Superwoman?" "Supergirl," I smiled. One adult and one child said, "Supergirl" right away. Everybody else said, "It's Superman." In fact, a number of people denied the existence of a Supergirl when I told them I was Supergirl, not Superman. "There's no such thing!," they said. I immediately informed that that yes, there is a character called Supergirl, and not only that, she's been around since the sixties. Plus, there have been multiple versions of Supergirl including an alternate universe "Lana Lang" who became a protoplasmic creature as as well as a merged-with-a-human angel. "But there's no Supergirl movie," one person said. "Yes, there is," I replied. "1984, starring Helen Slater, and I own the movie." What is extremely scary is that I knew the year the movie came out off the top of my head. I am an obsessed, demented DC fanatic nutcase. I'm not a man, and the DC universe does include Supergirl.

Warning: I don't really have that much to say. It's been about a week and a half since I posted my last blog and I felt like making a new one. My life is still a bit crazy right now, but that's nothing new. However, my newest job has now come to an end. Tuesday mornings are now my own. I can use computers at two different places on Tuesdays without having to quickly close or minimize the screen. I kind of sort of maybe have another job. I'm still not quite sure. I know that week after week I go to the job, but I don't know how long I'll be doing it. Officially, on Sundays I sub at a religious school. However, I've been "subbing" for the same teacher for about five weeks now. I'm trying to create tomorrow's lesson right now. I'd say that's a bit more than being a sub. And yes, I know that I shouldn't be preparing a lesson less than 12 hours before the lesson is supposed to take place. Bad me. I haven't had time to do other necessary things as well. Purim is next week and I haven't even bought baskets/bags or food for mishloach manot (gifts of food that are given to friends and family) let alone put together my costumes (one of the celebrations I'm going to is a theme party. I'm not a fan of theme parties. I want to be Supergirl!) I'm probably going to have to use bags because at this time of year, stores carry Easter baskets. I'm sure the rabbi's family would love that. My favorite moment from this week: Feeling like a real teacher by teaching the kids things I'm interested in and hold meaning for me. As the weeks go by, I feel more and more like I'm actually teaching the kids. I'm finally able to teach them without fitting lessons into five minutes or going without any time at all. There's elastic time and then there's limitless time. Kids need to have limits. "It's almost time for snack-time." "Lunch is over in five minutes." In kindergarten, they won't be able to do whatever they want whenever they want. The time to learn is now. My least favorite moment from this week: Being questioned by a grandparent who dropped off her grandchildren. She tried to send them by themselves to the hall to hang up their coats and lunchboxes and when I politely told her, "Can you please go with them? They can't go to the hall by themselves" she responded with, "Can't you take them?" My response: "I have to stay in the room with the other children." Her response: (in a not-too-pleased tone as she made her way to the hall) "I left Abby [her 2-year-old grandchild] in the car." First of all, leaving the child alone in the car is highly illegal. Three of the parents have babies or toddlers. Only one of them always brings the child into the school with her. I'm amazed that the parents openly admit to leaving their extremely young children unattended in cars. Secondly, does she really think I'd ask her to go to the hall for kicks? She's not the only person who has told the kids to go to the hall by themselves or simply left a child in the room with their coat and lunchbox. I'm not a superhero. I can't be in two places at once. Would they really want me to leave their child unattended while taking another child out into the hall? Enough ranting. In another part of the world, the sun is shining.