I should probably stop telling on myself

But I can't help it. (It's the lack of self-discipline again, I think.)

There was an episode of Buffy where she says, "I feel an attack of dumb blonde coming on." This always irked me because she wasn't a REAL blonde. I am.

And, unfortunately, I have these attacks sometimes.

Take today.

It's time to do my quarterly data analysis at work, so I opened up my ginormous spreadsheet and, for some crazy reason, I had apparently password-protected the main worksheet. I don't remember doing this, but I'm the only one who could have. (And, there's absolutely no reason to do it, which just makes me crazy.) Since I didn't remember doing it, I also didn't remember the password. I tried every password I have ever used. None worked. So, I had to copy what I could into a new worksheet, delete the password-protected one, and now I have to update all 8 gazillion references to that worksheet throughout the rest of the workbook. It took me 20 minutes to do it on one worksheet; there are five more in the workbook. Awesome. That was Dumb Blonde Attack #1.

I was telling my cube-neighbor about it this morning, and then we got to talking about the fact that it's Election Day. I was annoyed that even though I changed my address with DMV (on a form that specifically mentioned voter registration, too), my request for an absentee ballot was denied. I'd have to vote in person for the first time in many, many years. We were lamenting about the candidates and how crappy this whole election season has been and our fears about the race for governor (since it will affect us as state employees as well as residents of the state). I said, "There should be a test you have to pass before you can vote."

My cube-neighbor said, "Isn't that how they kept African-Americans from voting back in the '50s?"

"Not literacy tests," I said. "I don't care if you can read. I care if you know the issues and are informed."

And so, I wrote on our little in/out board that I was "performing my civic duty" and went off to get myself registered and to vote.

After standing in line, filling out another form, producing my rental agreement and license, I was cleared to vote. I went up to the little old lady and collected my cards. She said, "Make sure you turn the white one over, because it has two sides." Well, duh. Of course I'd check! Did she think I was an idiot?

And then I stood in front of the little voting cubicles and I was stumped.

Let me back up for a second to defend what I did next: Like I said before, I haven't voted in person in many years. And, in Portland, the set up is different. The voting areas are more more like partitioned cubes. It's very clear how you get in and out of them.

So, I stood there, looking at people's legs beneath the curtains, and I couldn't figure out how you got BEHIND the curtain (because it looked like one continuous curtain -- really, it did). So, I go to the little old lady and I say, "This is probably a dumb question, but how do you get behind the curtain?"

She looked at me like I was too stupid to live. And lifted up the curtain.

Oooohhhhhh.

That would be Dumb Blonde Attack #2. Which is a lot for one day.

I told this story at work twice today (at lunch, and then at our staff meeting). Both times, I laughed so hard I made myself cry.

I toyed with the idea of doing a dramatic reenactment -- maybe even with my gnomes or quarter machine monkeys -- but I don't think I'll have the time to get that quite right, especially if I plan to meet my NaNoWriMo goals. Sigh.

It's good to laugh at yourself, and I'm glad that I can. I certainly have plenty of opportunity....