When I first started attending my old church, I sat in a different area each Sunday, not sure I wanted to adopt my “own” section. It gave me a chance to meet different people, but I began to feel self-conscious when I realized most members sat in the same area Sunday after Sunday. I wondered if people were starting to wonder about my nomadic ways -- then realized my ego had kicked into high gear to think that anyone had noticed me among the 600 who packed the sanctuary each week. A few weeks later, during the weekly greeting time, a man sitting near me shook my hand and seemed to recognize me. “You’re the girl who sits all over the church,” he said. So much for being invisible.

I've been watching my car's odometer over the past several months as the miles crept toward 150,000. On Monday I realized that it would probably hit the mark sometime the next day. It seemed a noteworthy event, as cars go - especially since I've managed to get this far with no major repairs needed. Imagine my disappointment when I got home from work yesterday evening, looked down, and read 150,008. I missed it! But what did I really think I was going to do when The Moment arrived? Honk the horn and throw confetti out the window?

I brought a Texas Sheet Cake in to the office today (I’m going for Miss Congeniality). I overheard two coworkers - apparently contemplating the calories involved - saying I was “evil.” But I’m sure they meant that in a good way.

Sometimes I wish I had a job that involved talking on a two-way radio and ending conversations by saying, "Copy that." That would make me feel SO cool.

My TV doesn't have a remote-control, which wouldn't be a big deal if I had a normal air conditioner. But my system happens to be abnormally loud (I've dubbed it "The Iron Lung"), which leaves me with three choices: make TV viewing an aerobic activity by jumping up to adjust the volume every time the AC comes on, learn to lip-read dialog, or just deal with the fact that the characters will be shouting at me during those otherwise blissful moments when The Iron Lung shuts off.

Archaic though it may be, my TV is much easier to deal with than some of the more advanced systems I've encountered. I was at a friend's house a few nights ago, waiting for her to finish a phone call. Since the only reading material at hand were parenting magazines or books for preschoolers, I decided to catch a few minutes of television while I waited. I found the "Power" switch to turn on the TV ... which ended my technological achievements for the evening. I located four different remote-control devices -- none of which controlled the television channels (despite the clearly marked "Channel" buttons on two of the devices). I finally gave up and turned the TV off.

I may not have a large-screen TV, Surround Sound or an impressive DVD/CD/VCR/Everything Else You Could Possibly Need For Entertainment system at my house. But at least I can figure out how to watch David Letterman.

People tease me about my tendency to date guys with unusual names: Chaney. Dwight. Galen. Raoul. My friends were never able to say Raoul's name normally, but always pronounced it to make him sound like an exotic foreigner: "So, Karen, how's Raouuuuuuuuul?" (Actually, he was as all-American as any Mike or Paul.) I never quite got used to the name myself. I knew our relationship could never become serious, since I couldn't picture keeping a straight face while saying, "I take you, Raoul, to be my lawfully wedded...." (And the fact that most of his conversation revolved around his car didn’t help much.)

So I've been used to winning all the weird-name contests, until talking with a co-worker who claims to have dated men named Parker, Gannon and Rebel. I think I've been beat ... though it's highly possible she’s pulled her names out of Soap Opera Digest.

I walked into Circuit City on Saturday and spent a total of four minutes deciding on and purchasing a new TV/VCR unit for my bedroom. Later, I spent half an hour - in two different grocery stores - deliberating over snacks to take to my Sunday school class the next morning. There is definitely something wrong with me.

I’ve had insomnia all summer long, and have watched a lot of middle-of-the-night TV as a result. You name it, I’ve probably seen it: Infomercials for Pilates videos and the Amazing Revo Styler. Reruns of various 70s and 80s sitcoms. A locally produced film called “The Cowboy and the Ballerina.” Commercials for every mattress store and car dealer in Arizona. (After midnight, the program-to-advertisement ratio reverses. You get two minutes of program sandwiched between 10-minute commercial segments.) I’ve also made this discovery: “Just Shoot Me” is on pretty much around-the-clock.

Aren't there enough troubled people in the world of dating without this?

My seven weeks of housesitting in a gated community that I’ve dubbed “The Resort” ended yesterday. It will take a few days to stop missing the view of city lights, walk-in closet, microwave and dishwasher. (My own kitchen was built in 1950 and hasn't been updated much since then. Retro definitely has its drawbacks.) But I have a home computer again, and I've cut my commute time by 5 or 10 minutes. I’ll console myself with those thoughts.

Karen's Music Trivia
Song that runs through my head for hours at a time, much to my chagrin:
Copa Cabana by Barry Manilow

Song that played on my parents’ easy listening station, that I liked despite its hokiness:
Cherish by The Association

Song that gets me kind of choked up, though I don’t know why:
Promised Land from Veggie Tales’ “Josh and the Big Wall”

Song that I want played at my funeral:
Sometimes by Step by Rich Mullins

Song that must be included in the music soundtrack if I ever write a novel that’s adapted into a film:
Fields of Gold by Sting

Favorite 70s song:
More Than a Feeling by Boston

Favorite 80s song:
Mandolin Rain by Bruce Hornsby & the Range

Favorite Christmas Carol:
Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella

Most beautiful worship song I have ever heard:
Passacagalia of Praise

Song I wish I could play on the piano:
Linus and Lucy from “A Charlie Brown Christmas”

Song I can play on the piano, that sounds pretty good, if I do say so myself:
Think of Me from “Phantom of the Opera”

A department I work with is putting together a cookbook that will be sold as a fund-raiser, and came to me for ideas on a book title. Since they're seeking philanthropic support, I developed a title that cleverly referenced both charitable giving and cuisine. For some reason, though, "Fork It Over" wasn't quite what they had in mind. Now they want other ideas.

My talent is definitely going to waste here.

Today’s discovery: Chewing spearmint gum while drinking diet Coke creates a flavor strongly resembling that of a cleaning product. (Or what I would imagine cleaning products to taste like if I were in the habit of consuming them.)