I woke up a little bit on the early side this morning, and enjoyed some time just lazing in bed that I don't normally get on a weekday morning. Once I got out of bed, I went about my morning routine, and as I was getting out of the shower I thought I heard a knocking sound, but I dismissed it as coming from the dryer. Then a few minutes later, another sound caught my ear.

"DING-dong!"

Who is ringing our doorbell at 8 in the morning? I figured it was for my roommate and ignored it until

"DING-dong! DING-dong DING-dong DING-dong!!"

The hell? Having just gotten out of the shower, I wasn't dealing with it. I was certain it wasn't for me, because I have a cell phone and my friends would call it if they were at my door and needed me. They also know that no one upstairs can ever hear the door.

"Hey! HEY!!!!"

Okay, seriously. The. HELL?? I threw on the nearest things to hand and went into my bathroom. If there was some psycho screaming at the front door, I sure as hell wasn't going to go down and open it. But my bathroom window is right over the front door, so I opened that instead. As I pulled open the venetian blinds, I saw a guy at the end of the front walk, just on the other side of the horsetail plant at the edge of the yard.

"Can I *HELP* you?" I asked, with not so contained annoyance.
"Yeah, I'm looking for C. He's got my truck and he didn't show up for work this morning."

I noticed at that point that the guy's sweatshirt had the same logo on it that C.'s work shirts do.

"Umm. I'll go see if he's here, hang on." I shut the window and went down the hall to C.'s room.

Knock-knock-knock-knock. "C.?" Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-KNOCK. "C.!"

C. answers his door, bleary eyed and partially wrapped in his sheet, still about 75% asleep.

"Your boss is downstairs."
"Oh, uh, right. Uh, okay, I'll be right down."

I did a little dance in front of C.'s door. Do I go back to my room? Do I go downstairs and talk to his boss? After about a minute I opted to go downstairs and talk to his boss. As I open the door I realize what I have thrown on: red flannel pants printed with Emperor penguins, and a brown and pink (Josh Groban) hoodie that says "AWAKE" across the front.

"Hi, uh, C. will be down in a minute."
"Okay, thanks."
"Uh..." I have no idea what the protocol is here. "Did you want to come in?"
"No, thanks, I'll just wait out here."
"Okay."

I shut the door but didn't lock it, and went upstairs to finish getting ready for work. Right as I got back to my room I heard C. stumble out of his room and down the stairs.

I changed into work clothes and finished getting ready; shutting down my laptop, dropping my cell phone and camera into my purse. I slid my purse up onto my shoulder as I slipped my feet into my shoes and then headed out, habit making me check over my shoulder to make sure my cat hadn't managed to sneak out into the hall before I could close the door behind me.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs I noted that the front door was still unlocked. C. was in the shower and his boss was nowhere to be seen, so I locked it and headed to the back door, which is the door off the driveway and the one we use to enter/exit the house 95% of the time.

As I slid my key into the door to lock it behind me I could hear the water running upstairs, and I wondered what his boss must have thought of us. Two people in a huge house, both in pajamas at 8 a.m. on a weekday, seemingly oblivious to the person pounding on our door. Not that I really care what his boss thinks of me, but I have to think that the difference in my two appearances in doorways, separated by only ten to twelve minutes, was striking and that he had definitely not seen me in anything even resembling a presentable state.

The first had me not only in baggy pajamas, but pajamas that clashed- red and brown and pink and black- barefoot and dripping from the shower, green eyes flashing with annoyance. The second, not 15 minutes later, had me stepping out a different door, professionally dressed in khaki and light blue, hair still wet but styled, purse slung over my shoulder and shoes clicking on the pavement, looking forward to sharing my amusing morning with my friends.

I'm a magnet for The Crazy.

"I'm definitely a magnet.
That's why I can't wear a digital watch."

Wow. Sometimes I think I'm the crazy person that simply attracts other crazies. But then, I think of Jim G. of Pale Force--the standup that he does where it's like (and this is a horrible paraphrase): "Weird people are going well, at least I'm somewhat self sufficient and not those guys in the looney bin. And the guy in the looney bin's going, well, at least I'm an orange."