Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Ticker Time

Judy has a ticker on her site counting down the days to her cruise. It's semi-cute because it has a fish (fishies!) counter swimming along water bubbles (bubbles!). But it's not totally cute because it reminds me that I want to go on a cruise and it doesn't look like I'll be going on one any time soon.


I wanted some fishies of my own so I made myself a ticker.

And then I thought I'd make one for my friend Zoink, who's planning a bachlorette party that only four people have RSVP'ed for so far. :)

Caution: Evil Genius At Work

My former Desk Neighbor, Sal, just called me up on the phone.

Me: Yo (not my official office phone greeting, but I have caller ID and knew who was calling me)
Sal: It's ST.
Me: What? (it took me a second to realize he'd said his initials, which aren't really ST. I made those up because I've changed his name to protect the innocent - namely me)
Sal: It's ST. Do you feel like FB?
Me: *blinks*

He was talking in code (he's silly like that) but it was a code I wasn't given a decoder ring for. I asked him for clarification.

Me: huh?
Sal: Do you feel like FB?

I guess I was talking in code as well because he didn't elaborate. I tried to figure out what FB meant. What could FB possibly stand for?

My Brain: FB... FB... FB... ... ... Fat Bunnies?

That's right folks. Fat Bunnies. That's what this evil genius mind of my mine came up with. Go on. Admire the geniusness all you want.

My Brain: Fat Bunnies??????

As soon as I thought 'fat bunnies' - and thought about how stupid brilliant it was - another possibility came to mind. The right one this time.

Me: Oh! Farmer Boys! (the restaurant right across the street)
Sal: Yeah. Farmer Boys. What did you think I meant?
Me: Er... So you want to go over there now?

If only I could harness this awesome brain power for good, namely to make gobs of money without working too hard.

Why is it blogger craps out right when I'm in the mood to post a zillion times a day?

I work for a company that's grouped along with its sister companies under a bigger company, which in turn is owned by a Mega Corporation, one of the largest on the planet I believe. So there are many Muckety Muck Higher Ups that could come to visit and inspire fear amongst our otherwise fearless leaders.

Some of those Mucks are here this week. Not to inspire fear per say - I think this is just a routine 'hey, how's things going? You're kind of in the red and its only March so what the fuck is going on and will it get better soon so I have something positive to tell my boss so he has something positive to tell the boss' kind of thing - but if fear is a helpful byproduct of the visit I'm sure the Mucks won't mind.

Maybe fear is the goal. I have no idea. I have no idea how Management types think and or what kind of guy the Head Muck is. He used to work here so other people know him, but I don't. He was before my time. I don't care to ever know him. I'm happy hiding in my almost vacant cubicle cul-de-sac and watching the action from the bleachers.

The action being the bosses that are running around on hyper mode this morning. Not in frantic panic mode - thank goodness because that's never a good sign. They're just in hyper mode. At the moment its fun to watch, and will continue to be until a boss needs to me look something up or run some sort of report. Then I'll get thrown into the mix. Bleagh. I think I did all my report running for this special occasion last week, so I'm probably free to work on all the other crap in my In Box. Yeah me!

Just to be on the safe side, I'd better time my bathroom break/coffee break/disappearing act to a tee.

Okay... since blogger is being a butt I didn't post this right away. I let it sit in the background while I did some stuff I get paid to do. And while I was being all worker bee-ish the Muckety Muck that's in town saw me and thought he'd introduce himself. Nice guy. Offered to shake my hand, asked me who I was and what I did around here. I don't think I said, 'duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh' but I'm not quite sure.


I so don't know how to sell myself. Or how to talk so I sound all important and shit. I told him what I did in less that five words and then stared and smiled and racked my brain for something else to say. Mr. Muck, being a Muck and therefore having excellent Talk Nicely To Inferiors speaking skills picked up the slack and made a comment about some the people here he used to know. I smiled more and said, 'yeah, blah blah blah. Its rough keeping those guys in line blah blah blah.' Trust me, the blah blah blah part wasn't all that bad. I actually sounded like someone who communicates with humans on a regular basis.

It's not a big deal, I didn't make a fool out of myself or anything. And I don't think a great big neon IDIOT sign popped up above my head... I just that I wish the witty comments spewed forth with ease instead of getting lost somewhere on the turnpike.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. be at the epicenter of a major earthquake OR in an area under severe tornado warning?

I was just talking about this with my mom last weekend. I'm glad I don't live in/near the paths of tornados. I'm glad I don't live where there's a 'hurricane' season. I'm glad I don't live on or near a hill that's being destroyed - along with all the homes on top of it - by the all the rain we were getting here in southern California. And while I do live near the big ass San Andreas fault line (and even closer to some smaller fault lines), I'd rather live here than anywhere else. Because tornados and hurricanes happen a lot more often than the major earthquakes.

But if two major disasters were happening right now, and I had to pick which one I'd rather be in the middle of, I think I'd pick the tornado. Because if I'm in Tornado Land I'd be closer to a basement/cellar/underground dwelling where I could hide from the tornado. I don't know of any earthquake proof hidey holes around here - other than the space under my desk or the area under the door frame - and I don't think those will be much protection if the epicenter of The Big One decided to set up shop here in Last-Big-Earthquake-Down-Here-Happened-Years-Ago-So-I'm-Completely-Safe-No-I-Don't-Think-That-Means-We're-Overdue Land.

2. have to replay your worst birthday over and over (like the movie groundhog day) OR your most embarrassing day in high school?

The most embarrassing day in high school. Because it would be an easily fixable situation (since I would be able to fix it if I'm like Phil in the Groundhog movie). My worst birthday, my 21st, is not so easily fixable and its one I'd rather not think about, let alone live again. Phooey!

3. have hair that feels like coat hanger wires OR skin that feels like a cat's tongue?

Wire hair. Because I can cut my hair short so its out of the way and not so easily feel-able. I can't cut the cat tongue skin off, which would mean the end to my rub-up-again-strangers-for-money street performer routine.

4. have skin that always looks dirty, no matter how clean you are OR feet that smell like cooked cabbage?

The smelly feet. Because that's why God invented shoes. Even if he didn't directly invent shoes, God invented the guy who would invent shoes. God also invented the guy with smelly cooked cabbage feet. Probably so that his friend would invent smell concealing shoes. He's mighty clever, that God.


i hate blogger. i don't know if its the website or my computer or my connection or whatever. pages won't load and fault out, and the ones that do load take forever and a century to do so. and one of my recent posts posted funny, and immediately after that i kept getting this runtime error pop up window message saying something was wrong every time i looked at the blog. so i thought it was the post. but the post is no longer on the page so what the fuck is going on with this stupid thing. i don't know if its blogger or not, but i gotta place the blame somewhere, and its not going to be on me, so blogger... kiss my hyper white chubby ass. i don't need this shit right now.


Episode II: Attack of the Big Bad Bike

And the saga continues. The HB called me yesterday at work, after him and the bike had fallen over a couple times in the parking lot, to tell me buying the motorcycle might not have been the greatest idea in the world.


I hope this is his midlife crisis and I hope he gets over it quickly. I should have been the rational one, the clear thinking one. Only problem is I thought I was being the rational one. I don't know anything about motorcycles and didn't think buying one would be a problem. And it wouldn't have been if he had the time to relearn how to drive a motorcycle at his own pace (and learn how to drive the high powered one he just had to fall in love with above all others.) But he has no other vehicle to drive in the mean time so it's the motorcycle or else. And I think that might have freaked him out just a tad.

I told him, as I touched his motorcycle owie (a big ol' knot on the side of his leg that he kept calling his hematoma) for the umpteenth time ('yes dear, I can feel that its a big bump') and made sympathetic noises ('ah poor baby'), that the next time this happens, the next time he wants to buy something big and extravagant, I'm going to play the devil's advocate and nag nag nag until I seem like I'm no fun. I told him to remember this moment, because I'll only be doing it for his/our own good.

I'm sure he'll forget.

His dad has a car he can borrow... but it won't be available for another week or two. So that will be nice. Until then we're playing car tag. And will probably go rent a car later today. Which I'll be paying for since the HB has absolutely no money until Friday (payday). Well, he did have three dollars, but when I asked for one of the dollars for the vending machines here at work he gave them all to me. What a sweetie. And the motorcycle... well, who knows what will happen with it. We might try and sell it and see if some sucker comes along to buy it for more than we paid for it. Or sell it if we can get a reasonably close sum of money. Or after a week or two, after a few driving lessons, the HB and the motorcycle might bond with each other and never want to part. Who knows...

And after I'd built up all these hopes of finally being a biker bitch!

Monday, March 28, 2005

Is it Friday yet?

So... guess how my vacation started.

If your guess falls anywhere near the warm and fuzzy category you are far, far off my friend.

Early Thursday morning, around 1:30 AM, I was picking my boyfriend up off the side of the street like he was a common hooker. (I told him I'd write that and he chuckled.) I had to pick him up because his car no longer works. It was in a car accident and the front is all smooshed. Now, the HB's fine and the other guy's fine, so in the grand scheme of things that's all that really matters. But that doesn't mean there aren't a bunch of problems to follow that will be causing me stress and a reason to exercise my extensive cussing vocabulary. I'd give you more details but won't because of possible future legal reasons. (I told the boyfriend I'd write that too and he chuckled again.)

That was all I could do for him that first day; be there for him and make him laugh occasionally. I didn't know what to say to make him feel better, maybe because there aren't any magic words that fix the fixable in a mere matter of nanoseconds and disappear everything else. I didn't know if I should comfort him or kick him in the ass. I tried to give him a healthy dose of both.

Man was I ball of nerves as I drove to pick him up. He called and asked me to pick him up at the accident and not the hospital, so I comforted myself with the knowledge that he couldn't have been too badly hurt. I didn't know about the other guy, but the HB didn't sound like the situation was bad on the phone, so I figured everyone was okay. In my happy little bubble world I wouldn't accept anything else. Once I logically reasoned that everyone was okay I got angry, because anger is a lot more easily handled that worry. I can't remember what I was angry about now, so it was probably all trivial stuff.

So the HB ended his 20's with a 'bang'. Ha ha not that funny. The next day, Friday, he turned 30. And we went and bought him a motorcycle. It seemed so logical at the time. He's been wanting a motorcycle for over a year now. He poured over For Sale ads in the penny saver hoping to find the motorcycle he wanted for a price he could afford. He was finally getting to the point financially where he'd feel comfortable enough to buy one and then whammo! This happens.

Ain't that how it always goes? You finally feel like things are falling into place, that you're getting your shit together, and whammo! The shit comes together just to blow up in your face. That's sort of how we both feel at the moment. I thought I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel myself but it was just one of the Fates giving me the finger; a finger with a fingernail covered in glow-in-the-dark nail polish. Just when I start to think optimistically about the debt I'm in, just when I feel good enough to say, 'yeah, the Credit Card Monster's got me by the short and curlies, but I'm paying them off rather well lately and everything will be fine in no time', something like this happens. Something that's going to cost me more money and make me do the money juggle dance. Sons of bitches!!!!

The HB also wants an SUV. Almost as much as he wanted a motorcycle. As we were standing in the parking lot waiting for the guys to bring around the motorcycle we'd just bought, I turned to the HB and said, "Please don't wreck the motorcycle to get your SUV. I don't want to have to buy it out of necessity too."

I wish we would have bought a cheap little clunker he'd hate, but seeing how giddy he is with his new toy makes me think differently. Well, only a little bit. I hate motorcycles. And I hate that the HB will be riding on one. He used to own a motorcycle... about ten years ago. And you know why he hasn't ridden one in such a long time? Ten years ago some crazy reckless driver drove him and his motorcycling buddies off the side of the road. They were all right, but their motorcycles were all smashed to shit. And now he's on one again. Oh yeah. But at least he has transportation.


So that was my vacation. No trek to the beach for a nice relaxing weekend for us, no spontaneous jaunt to Las Vegas for a couple of days, no carefree Thursday where I didn't have to worry about anything because I was on a vacation. Instead the HB wakes me up in the middle of the night because he'd just been in a car accident and needed a ride home. And we spend the weekend stressed out about dozen different things instead of relaxing and forgetting about everything else.

On the bright side, apart from the 'no one was hurt' thing, I went to my parent's house Saturday night (dropping the HB off at his parent's house in the process) and easter morning, since I was going to be leaving before dinner (we were doing a very quick easter family drive-by) my mom let me sample the lemon pie thing she'd made for easter dessert. It was goooooood and made a most excellent breakfast. :)

*starts to whistle 'always look on the bright side of life'*

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

T. G. I. F. F.

And no, I don't mean Teenage Girls In Flannel Formals.

I mean Thank Goodness It's Fake Friday!

Because today is my 'Friday'. It's my 'fake Friday.' Just moments ago I realized that today is Wednesday. And that means its my last day of work this week!

*big holy moly sigh of relief*

Friday is a paid holiday here at The Company, though they call it 'Spring Break' and not 'Good Friday'. I'll be off tomorrow as well, taking a vacation day so I can hang out with the HB. He has the rest of the week off in order to better celebrate his birthday. Which is this Friday.

What will we be doing on this momentous occasion? I have no idea. I have no idea where we're going to go, or even if we're going to go anywhere at all (and since its easter weekend and a couple minutes before the very last minute I doubt we'll be going anywhere that will require us to book a hotel reservation. But who knows... anything can happen.)

I've made a few suggestions for friday, but its his birthday so he gets to make the final decision on where we go and what we do (within reason of course). So far he hasn't come up with anything. Or, more importantly, he hasn't mentioned anything to me. I bet he has it all figured out in his head and just hasn't bothered to fill me on. That'd be just like the man. So I could be doing something this weekend, or maybe even tomorrow. I might be out of town. I might not be. It's all just so spontaneously fun I'm about to burst. Spontaneously so.

Either way I'm sure it will be a great Super Sized weekend.


My boss was walking by a few minutes ago and thanked me for the reports a ran for him yesterday. I said, 'Your welcome. And oh by the way...'

I told him I was writing a response to the supervisor's email (that I was grrrrrring about in the previous post). He gave me a look that said, 'Huh? What in the world would you possibly need to respond for?'

I explained that I was listing the steps she needs to follow and that she's 'responsible' for.

He said, 'Well, it would be good to explain to her yadda yadda yadda...' but is still looking at me like 'huh? What's your point?'

So I said something like, '... you know, since apparently its all my fault she's not doing her job right.'

'Ah' he says, getting the point. He told me to send him what I'd written, with all the proper procedures and stuff (i.e. highly subtle 'stick that in your cornhole' comments), and he'd send it out as if it came from him, so it had a little authoritative punch behind it.

Which means I won't have to worry about whether or not the email seems like an electronic raspberry.


And my day had started out so well. I caught the tale end of one of my favorite songs, Kyrie Eleison by Mr. Mister.

Kyrie Eleison, down the road that I must travel

It's one of those songs that always compels me to sing out loud, whether I'm in public or not...

Kyrie Eleison, through the darkness of the nii-ii-iight

... whether I'm in the confines of my car or in a restaurant with family or friends who are easily embarrassed (for them I do try and keep the singing down to a whisper).

Kyrie Eleison, where I'm going will you follow

So there I was, singing my heart on a highway in the lii-ii-iiight, and I'm thinking today was going to be an awesome day.

I shouldn't have opened my Outlook. I shouldn't have read any emails. It all went down hill after that. That'll teach me!

I feel better now. I found this hilarious craigslist post via jodiferious and that cheered me up considerably. As did the little email convo I had with my BBBF. Smiling is magically effective that way.

So now I'm a chipper cube dweller once again. Noodles!

Discarded Interoffice Email Subject Header #12: Dear Stupid Ass Bitch

I am so hoppin' flippin' mad right now. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

A supervisor did something she shouldn't have done. Twice! So a guy in my department sent an email to our boss, and only our boss, saying something like, 'hey, she's doing this wrong and its screwing us up.'

Our boss forwarded the email to her boss, and only her boss, saying something like, 'hey, I know we're busy buy we have to follow procedures.'

Her boss then forwarded the same email to her, and only her, and said something like, 'let's make sure we follow the new procedures that have been set up because it will help everyone and make things run smoother.'

All sounds nice and simple, don't it?

I don't know if they talked to about this face to face or not, but she was certainly pissed. So pissed she went into CYA overdrive.

She forwarded the email to the guy who sent the first email, as well as his boss, her boss, and for icing on the CYA cupcake she cc'ed The Boss. And the topic of the email: its all my fault she messed up.


In the email she says the problem was a "direct result of CM issuing double PO's". Which is completely bogus. Then she babbles on about not doing something because she didn't think it was her responsibility, but none of that makes sense. If she was following the very simple procedures (of which I've instructed her on at least twice already) there would be no room for this problem to even start! Then she says she knew of the problem but, "My response was 'oh well... I guess they'll figure it out." Yeah, after it screws everything up you lazy dumbass! And then, and then, to end the email she types this: "I am sorry I didn't have the time to double check someone else's area of responsibility, but I now see that I must in order to be in compliance with our procedures"

Whatever bitch! Just do your goddamn job right and you won't need to worry about it!!!!!


I'm going to take a deep breath and try to calm down a bit. It's either that or get all kung fuey on her ass. Then I'll write up a concise and well written reply, throwing in a 'if you need me to explain this to you again so you quit fucking up, please let me know. I'm only too happy to help.'

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. have a giant sunflower grow out of the top of your head OR cotton balls under your arms?

Oh. My. Gawd. Are you kidding me? I would love to have a sunflower growing out of the top of my head! My hair is so blah the way it is, with the ultimate hair accessory I'd be the ultimate in cool. Everyone would envy me and want to know my secret. I'd be on magazine covers like Teen Beat and Vogue. I'd be on talk shows like the Daily Show and the KTLA morning news program.

I could be the ultimate flower child poster child!

2. always yell at the top of your lungs OR never be able to speak above a whisper?

I've always been a loud one. When I actually talk that is. :) For being a shy, quite, awkward little girl, I was always the loudest speaker in class. It was just slightly less than mortifying.

I hated reading aloud in class. Especially around the third and fourth grade because I was attending a new school and just wanted to fit in, be like all the other girls. I always dreaded the inevitable, my name being called to read the next paragraph, which was always the longest paragraph in the whole book. It's not that I couldn't read, I did so rather well even back then thank you very much. I just had one volume setting to my voice: loud. Almost all the other girls had quiet voices. Some even talked so softly you could barely hear them. But when it was my turn I was decibels higher. The volume rang in my ears and a little voice in my head said, 'Sheesh! Keep it down will ya?' But I didn't know how. I'm sure I wasn't as loud as I assumed I was, or even remember I was, but I was still louder than most.

So I think I wouldn't mind being a whisper. It'd be a nice change. Besides, you can't keep yelling at the top of your lungs for too long. You're poor throat would give out on your.

3. not be able to say the letter 'B' OR make all your 'S' sounds like 'SH'?

The second option. I have to be able to say the word 'Bitch', in any form (singular, plural, noun, verb, ghetto-fied, etc) or I'll explode. I really will.

Because how else can I retaliate - when I'm playing cards with my family, and I draw the one card my mom needs and she says, in a very sweet and motherly tone, 'you bitch' - I have to be able to call her a bitch in return. It's part of the fun!

I actually love it when my mom says this to me during a card game. She says it in a very light hearted, funny way which always makes me giggle.

4. eat EVERYTHING covered with chocolate sauce OR have a side of graham crackers with every meal?

I like chocolate. And every few weeks or so I friggin love the stuff. But even during those glorious couple of days I don't think I'd want to eat everything covered in chocolate sauce. That just sounds gross. Unless all I eat is ice cream or frozen yogurt. Or cake and cookies. I can't think of anything else I wouldn't mind eating after its been chocolate sauce-itized. I don't even like chocolate dipped strawberries so fruits out of the question. I'd be dead in a week from a sugar OD.

So I'd rather eat graham crackers.

And speaking of chocolate and graham crackers... am I the only one who doesn't get smoores? Maybe I just haven't had a good one before, that's why I don't like them. Who knows. I just don't see the point. Graham crackers are good, yes. Chocolate is good, double yes. Marshmallows are good, very much yes. But all melted and smooshed together? Ehh... I just don't get it. Kind of like strawberries and chocolate. Bleagh.

Memory Flash Dance - Part 2

The whole thing that got me thinking about sensory memory triggers was something that happened this last Saturday - which I was going to write about but got distracted with stuff from the Saturday before that. (Gah! So many things to write about, so little time!)

Well, anyways... here's some examples of things that remind me of other things.

One of the strongest smell triggers for me is Olay Age Defying Daily Renewal Cleanser. (Can never be to young to defy the tricky Age Monster, right?) If I use this face soap often, I become familiar with the smell and it looses its memory flashback mojo. But if its been awhile, the smell is not in my current mental banks, so my mind leaps back in time to the first time I used it, the first time I smelled that heavenly smell...

It was during the first few days I was away from home, away at college (college being, after high school, the next stop in the road trip to Grownup Land). I'd never had face wash stuff before, stuff that was specially purchased for the use of cleaning my face and nothing else. And there I was, using the ultimate in grownup beauty care products. And oh that smell! It was so exotic compared to the plain generic soap my mom usually bought. This was serious stuff. This was grownup stuff. :) I've tried other fancy face soaps but this is the one I always go back to (and currently use). The smell of it has this sort of aroma therapy effect on me. It's intoxicating. The other day I bought some Olay body lotion, which smells very similar, just so I can smell my arms at random times of the day. *sniiiiiiiiiif* ahhhhhhh. That's good stuff. Its become a very comforting smell over the years.

One of the strongest sound triggers for me are songs. Some songs are associated with several memories. Sometimes when I hear Leaving On A Jet Plane, I remember riding in the car with my mom on our way to the beach, the Peter Paul and Mary tape blaring over the speakers, and the two of us singing at the tippy-most-toppest of our lungs. Sometimes when I hear that song I remember the time me and a former girl roommate sang the Armageddon soundtrack version of this song - at the top of our lungs - while the boy roommates stared at us like we were a couple of nutballs. And sometimes, like just now, I remember when I sang this song karaoke style. Not at the top of my lungs, but now that I come to think of it, that probably would have improved the quality of the singing.

One song that always triggers the same memory for me is Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. And its getting to the point of Annoying because they play this song on the radio all the time here, so the same memory keeps poping to mind every single time. Not that it's a bad memory, it's just... enough already!!!

The memory that gets triggered is the xmas when I was a pre-teener (can't remember the exact age). My cousin had flown home for a visit, and he'd brought an old high school friend along with him to the family festivities. And boy was that friend cute. Before dinner he sang Brown Eyed Girl on his guitar for everyone. I was at a very impressionable age you see, one where I no longer thought boys were completely icky, and one where I began to understand the age old equation:

Guy + playing guitar + singing = HOTNESS

I remember thinking 'if only I were a few years older... maybe then he'd notice me.' *sigh* So obviously that memory will be etched in my brain forEVER. :) Sometimes, after the first memory flash, this song also reminds me of my first college roommate. She had this song on tape and would play it every now and then, and we'd stop whatever we were doing, jump on the beds and serenade the whole dorm floor with our awesome sing-along abilities. Others would join in, because you can not not sing along with Brown Eyed Girl.

A taste memory trigger for me is chicken soup and 7up. When I was a little kid, those two things were pretty much my diet any time I was sick and upchucking. Now that I'm older, I can't have either without it reminding me of being upchucky. Less so, the older I get and the further from that childhood sick diet I get, but still... bleagh to chicken soup and 7up.

What started this whole reflection on how certain sense recognitions send the brain into Memory Retrieval Mode was something that happened this last Saturday. I was at work, putting in a half day to get in a few 'hey no one's here to bother me so I can concentrate on this and nothing else' hours for this project me and a coworker are working on. Some Pepsi was left over from the St. Patty's Potluck Extravaganza so I poured myself a cup and saddled up to the computer. I drank half the cup while it was still cold, leaving the rest to sit there and achieve room temperature status and become less fizzy (not by choice really, I just got in a groove and forgot all about the remaining sips of soda. A travesty, I know my fellow soda lovers.) An hour or so later I took a sip and the warm, flat taste of the Pepsi triggered a strong memory flashback. And wow, what a punch it had!

An image of the lake, the one just east of where I grew up, flashed before my eyes. It was so... real. So... vivid. It was like I was there man! Totally bitchin, totally drug free experience. Seriously.

I didn't go up to the lake often, but when I did it must have been with cans of Pepsi. :) No one particular memory stood out so I guess the lake and warm, flat Pepsi must go hand in hand together in my brain. Or maybe I just drank a lot of warm, flat Pepsi during my childhood, which is when most of my trips to the lake trips occurred, and my brain just did a trampoline jump over several close connecting memories and landed at the memory at the end of the line. That silly brain of mine, it was playing Six Degrees of Separation with my memories! As I sat there that Saturday and reflected, taking what I figured was a much needed break, I could remember the smell of that lake, the smell of fish and motor... er... liquid-y stuff (oil or gas or something else fume-y). I could remember the dirty color of the water, the yellow grass covered hills that surrounded the lake, the teeny tiny houseboat my grandpa had, the texture of the wooden bench I sat on and the plastic covering at my bare feet. I can remember how good the cool water felt on those hot summer days, despite all the creepy crawlies I imagined were swimming along side me. Most of all I remember the overall serene feeling I had being out at the lake, and the warm fuzzy feeling of being with relatives on a perfectly sunny day when there were no plans other than barbequing dinner later that night.

Damn. Never thought I'd actually miss that dirty smelly lake. :)

Monday, March 21, 2005

Memory Flash Dance - Part 1

It's a very cool trick of the brain, those sudden memory flashes you get, so kindly triggered by the senses. Thankfully my Good memories far out way the Bad so more often than not these memory flashes are quite pleasant. (And if there is a more technical term for this I have no idea what it is.)

Sometimes a smell or a sound, or even a combination of the two, triggers a memory and I'm transported back in time. Sort of like a poor man's time machine.

Sometimes no one particular memory is triggered, just the feelings that I had back when the memory formed.

And sometimes nothing is triggered at all, I just get the strangest damn sense of déjà vu, like there's a memory somewhere in my brain that's been erased - poorly erased, because little electrons of the memory still exists, so I have a sense that there's something to remember. I just can't quite remember what I should be remembering. Does that make sense? Has that happened to anyone else? Surely I can't be the only one. Because I've had that sense of the vu several times before.

Two weekends ago I was up visiting family and friends and going to a bridal shower. On Saturday my dad was running a swim meet at my old high school so I thought I'd stop by and say hi, check out the Old Stomping Ground and do a little walk down Memory Lane. I was a competitive swimmer from the age of 6 up until I was 20, so most evenings of my young life were spent in a pool. And most weekends were spent out of town racing in another team's pool. In high school it was pretty much the same thing, only I practiced in a different pool (my club team practiced in the rival high school's pool). And this time there was this thing called *gasp* morning practice! Eek!

Anyways, I hadn't been back to my old high school in years. The last time was for a water polo reunion game, and that was... what?... five or six years ago? Wow. Really? That long? Gah! I'm getting old.

So anyway, it had been awhile since I'd been back to the spot of all my high school glory *ahem*. And as I was walking up to the pool, past the gate that locked us in during school hours, past the gym and the handball courts where the baton twirlers and cheerleaders used to practice, past the spot where some bitch threw her cookie at a friend of mine freshman/sophomore year, I smelled that smell that I'll never forget for the rest of my life. It's a homey sort of smell, one that warms this former swimmer's insides with the warm fuzziness of happy memories. It's a combination of chlorinated water and the morning sun heating up the concrete, the grass, and the sun-block-lathered bodies of swimmers. It's the smell of a morning swim meet, and god how I missed it.

My best friend, who practiced and competed right along side me, was with me that Saturday morning and she too had the same sort of nasal awareness I did. And at the same time too. As we got closer to the pool we took a deep breath, breathed in that wonderful smell of a chlorinated pool, breathed it out in a sigh and smiled at each other. A knowing smile.

We commented on how the smell brought us back to 'the good old days', but when I brought up the cookie throwing incident, she had no idea what I was talking about. And I'm 98% sure she was the friend I remember being the target of the cookie throwing. I remember thinking it was mean, as well as a little funny, but only in a 'How lame is that! She threw a cookie!' sort of way. I remember my friend was furious, and rightly so, because some bitch threw something at her! How can my best friend not remember that?

Poor thing, it was so traumatic she's blocked it from her mind. :)


So many good memories. Heh heh heh.

Other highlights of that Saturday include:

- seeing one of my old high school swim coaches (who looks exactly the same as she did seven or so years ago!)

- hearing the hilariously lovely and yet oh so snide way my BBBF said the name Patterson (one of our old coaches *snicker*)

- my BBBF getting dissed by the rival high school swim coaches who coached back when we were in high school. HAHAHAHA. (sorry Beck, but that still cracks me up!!!)

- getting in some much needed and much treasured quality girl talk time with the BBBF at the hair salon after she twisted my arm into going there. ("you want to go get your hair cut?" "okay.")

- eating McDonald's at my parent's house where the BBBF consulted my newly acquired That's So Raven Happy Meal Toy, the Psychic Cell Phone. I asked it all the important questions in my life. ("when my brother moves to Las Vegas will his life expectancy drop?" "totally.")

- hanging out with my parents and an aunt and uncle. The five of us went out to dinner (where I discovered mushrooms that I actually like - probably because they were fried little poppers!) and then we went back to my parent's house and played some card games. For 'moola'. We played three games and I won the last two, which meant I won a little over two bucks in dimes. Score! While I won a bunch of dimes, I lost the right to whine say 'I never win at this game!'

Another classic 'Dear Diary' moment.

Just got back from having lunch across the street with Former Desk Neighbor Sal. We went to Farmer Boys, home of the 'World's Greatest Hamburgers'. Don't know that they're 'world's greatest', but they're definitely yum.

On the way out I went up to the counter and asked for a refill on my soda.

Bleached Blonde Girl: Can I help you?

Me: Can I have a refill on my soda?

BBG: For a beautiful girl like you, sure.

Me: *wondering did she just say what I think she said*

This caught me by surprise. Indubitably so. I've never had a girl (and I do mean girl - she couldn't have been older than me and I'm only 25!) say that to me before. I've never had a guy say this to me either, for that matter. It's very strange. Strange strange strange. It's something a young waitress girl might say to an older woman, or man, if she was kissing ass in hopes of a tip. But not something a young girl/woman would say to another young girl/woman. Unless...

Unless she was hitting on me.

Oh. My. Gawd!

I relayed what Blondie had said to me to Sal once we were safely outside. I broached the 'was that a pick up line?' question to him and he pondered it for a second. Then he said, "I don't know, I've never had a lesbian experience before." That's one of the reasons I like Sal. He makes me laugh.

So that's how my days been going so far.

Friday, March 18, 2005

T. G. I. F.

And no, I don't mean Twister Groin Injury Foundation.

It's that time again little chickadees and chickadudes to Answer That Question.

So raise your hand, raise your hand if you're sure I've done work today.

To all those raising their hands... 100 bonus points!
To all those with their hands elsewhere... stop that, I can see you, you know.

Yes, I have done work today. All I needed to do and more actually. What can I say, I'm just an over achieving super star that way.

As a reward to myself I've been playing working on a little sumthin' sumthin' (details to come later if any interesting details develop). I've also been checking out jodi's blog. And when I saw that Johnny Depp quiz I just knew I had to take it as well.

You Are Ed Wood From "Ed Wood."

You definitely have your name in history, although probably not for the reason you believe. Yet you are very accepting, non-judgemental, and optimistic almost to a fault. You also have a thing for angora sweaters. How could anyone not like you?

Take The Johnny Depp Quiz!

Yay! I'm... Ed Wood? Well, at least I'm famous. And I guess the 'very accepting, non-judgemental...' bit is a good thing.

And seriously, how could anyone not like me? How??? HOW???

I'm not wearing an angora sweater, but the sweater like shirt that I am wearing is shedding. Little pink fuzz balls keep popping up on my sweater shirt. I remove one, look around, don't see anymore and continue on about my business. Then half an hour later... whammo! Another little pink fuzz ball is floating around the boobage area. So I remove it. Which gives the Go Ahead sign to all the little pink fuzz balls lying in wait for their chance to make an appearance. All I can say is, thank god they're not all trying to pop out at once. I'd look really silly trying to get rid of them all. And they're very light so they sort of float off in to the distance when I try and discard them.

*sung to the tune of Tiny Bubbles*

Tiny fuzz balls
In my Dr. Pepper
Makes me feel funny
Makes me feel...

... like a leper?

Okay. That's it. I'm not using Dr. Pepper in any more of my made up songs. Hrmph!

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Dear Bosses,

I won't be doing much work for the rest of the day. So if you were planning on dropping any big Must Be Done Immediately Because The Fate of The Business And The World And Everything Hangs In The Balance it might not get done today. I'll do it tomorrow, don't worry about that. I'll do it right along with everything else I plan on doing tomorrow.

That's right. Tomorrow. As in tomorrow. Because my concentration brain cells are playing hooky today.

And I asked a couple friends to give me a Story Challenge List full of words and phrases I have to work into a story. So I'm going to be busy writing a little story about a little leprechaun girl who hates the color green. Yeah, I think that's what its going to be about. So I'll be busy doing that for the next couple hours.

And when I'm done with that I'll do some blog surfing. Earlier today I found a Gaelic prayer I like at Amber's site, and in the March 14th post at Katie MacAlister's blog I found a picture of Raul Bova, completely starkers! (Good stuff right there.) I'm sure there's a lot more stuff out there I need to see, so busy busy busy I be!

Thanks for understanding. You guys are great.

~ L

My new diet is called Don't Go To Work On Potluck Day

Have I mentioned that I like working upstairs?

I'd planned on bitching about moving up here on the blog, and might have a little bit. I think I've got a few half written posts saved on the computer here that I might finish someday and post. And while all the bitching might be justified, and still relevant later on down the line, I must concede that working upstairs does have its perks.

Such as the St. Patrick's Day Potluck that's going on right now. On the little ledge above my desk there's a big plate of chips and salsa (a very tradition Irish dish for sure) and a big plate of deviled eggs (within incredibly easy reaching distance of my chair). I'll try and draw a map of my desk later and post it so you get the full effect of the blatant use of my desk space (and because I really don't want to do any work today.) In front of my little cubicle wall is a table where all the other food is laid out. There's fried chicken, hot wings, potato salad, green cheesecake, chocolate chip cookies, three different fried rice dishes (one Chinese, one Cuban, one... I'm not sure - guy who brought it isn't here to boast about it like the other two. I think its Indian flavored), cinnamon rolls, plus a few other things that were added after my first round of plate filling.

It might be my last plate filling. The salsa is kicking my butt at the moment.

*cough cough wheeeeeez*

I'm a wuss when it comes to spicy stuff.

Think I need some cheesecake to cool my mouth off. Yeah. Good plan. Better plan than eating the fried rice with the cilantro in it.

Oh, and there's soda. Lots of soda.

So I've got breakfast, lunch, and dessert covered. And probably won't be hungry for dinner.

Oh! Somebody just walked by the table and gasped. "Brownie pie!"

So there's brownie pie too. Sweeeeeeeeeeet.

Kiss Me

I'm Irish.

Marginally fractionally so, but still Irish enough for a smoochy or two.


Tuesday, March 15, 2005

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. be responsible for an oil tanker crash off the coast of alaska OR cause a rebellion in a developing nation?

Thinking optimistically, the rebellion wouldn't cause any human deaths, while the oil tanker will most definitely kill animals and plants and the environment. And no one likes a penguin killer. (Those that do, don't count.) So I'd rather cause the rebellion. And maybe if I'm clever/stupid enough to cause a rebellion, maybe I can cause a fixer-upper situation and make everything better than it was before the rebellion.

2. get locked out of your house while naked OR throw up all over yourself in the middle of an important meeting?

The latter, because throwing up all over myself only harms myself, whereas being naked outside is harmful to all.

3. wake up to find your feet have grown two sizes OR hair all over your back that grows back every night?

Don't know how the HB would handle my sudden spouting of back hair... but I don't know how I'd deal with finding shoes to fit my all ready enormous feet. I hear enough bitching from my mom and brother about the troubles of finding shoes that fit them, I don't want to hear my own. So I guess if I had to pick... just call me chi-chi-chi-chia.

4. eat nothing but cheese for a week OR only chinese food for two months?

Consuming too much cheese gives me a headache. And makes things go gurgle gurgle down in the tummy. So I'd rather eat Chinese food for 2 months. Plus Chinese food has more variety than cheese does, so the diet shouldn't get too boring.

*big effing sigh*

I've been busy all day. All day! Busy with very monotonous type work, which makes the suck factor double. I'm just now getting around to a coffee/playtime break, and I only have an hour left of work!

Bless you kind soul who made a pot of coffee so late in the day.

Guy Who Sits Behind Me (who won't be sitting there after Friday *pout*) has the radio on, and its set to this really awesome station. Right now Mary Jane by Rick James is playing. I love this song. Time to get my cubicle groove on!

*rocks out to cheers of 'go white girl! go white girl!*

Friday, March 11, 2005

Note to Self # 426

Don't try to eat decadently moist cake that practically melts in your mouth and type at the same time. Unless you're wearing stainable clothes. Or in a state of being completely nekkid.

I'm only half way through my slice of cake and a piece has already dive bombed my boob. I've got a stain on my shirt! Now everyone will be looking at my boob! They should be looking at boobs. Plural. Now the other one is going to get jealous and I just don't have time to deal with jealous boobery.

I've died and been promoted to office heaven

Earlier today, one of the Upper Ups here on the second (and top) floor mentioned that she really needed some chocolate. So one of the other Upper Ups, while she was out and about getting lunch, stopped by Costco and bought a huge chocolate cake. For everyone to share.


Only problem is she placed it on the little ledge thingy in the corner of my cubicle. A Huge. Chocolate. Cake. Right within smelling distance.


My desk was unoccupied for a long time, so the little ledge thingy was the place to put snacks and goodies for the whole floor to munch on. Since I've taken up residence here no one's gotten the hint to use the still unoccupied cubicle to my right. So the nummy smelling bad-for-you-food gets put right in front of me!

The force is strong with me, but even a powerful jedi like myself can not resist the persuasive power of moist, rich, chocolate cake with REAL frosting.

Except of course, my dear strange alien friend Zoink, who is immune to the come-hither vibes of chocolate.

Damn. This cake is gooooooooooooooooood. Best damn chocolate cake I've had in... well, probably forever. Except for my buttermilk brownie cake of course but other than that supreme creation this chocolate cake is the chocolately bestest.

Can I just say that I love working upstairs. I miss my old desk neighbors and would rather be back downstairs, but Upstairs certainly has its perks.

I'm ready for my Employee Of The Month award Mr. Deville

I've got a lot of work to do today.

So much work, so little time.

That's why I just got done updating my froogle wish list.

Because I'm all about the productivity bay-bee! :)

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Zingers: The Breakfast of Champions

You know how I was writing about playing Marco Polo the other day? Well, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me is reviewing some kind of report or whatnot, and he keeps having issues with the data given to him by one of the employees, Marco. Since he likes to talk out loud, the GWSBM keeps saying 'Marco' in a rather frustrated tone, then pauses like he's trying to figure something out. So this guy's sitting behind me, doing his work thing rather quietly, and all of a sudden he shouts out 'Marco.'

And I was this close to shouting back 'Polo!' And not on purpose. I'm not quite sure how well that joke will go over up here with my new desk neighbors. I'm still testing the waters in that area, but I'm pretty sure he'd get the joke. And quite possibly think it was funny at the same time. Plus, I'm slow with the comebacks sometimes and only thought to say the 'Polo' bit several minutes after he said 'Marco', and by then it wouldn't have been funny. Only a bit sad on my part. GWSBM's done it twice already, but now that I've decided to yell out 'Polo!' the next time he says 'Marco' and nothing else he's not going to do it any more. Because that's just how life works sometimes. So I've lost my chance to be funny. Dammit.

I did get in a good zinger earlier today though.

Loud Girl Across the Hall was talking (loud enough for everyone upstairs to hear) about her awesome convertible,. She was complaining about how it was so beautiful and sunny when she left her house this morning that she decided to drive with the top down. Then when she got a couple miles from work she suddenly drove into a wall of fog, and boy what a pisser that was. She's complaining about the fog, and her now frizzy hair, but still talking affectionately about her awesome convertible.

GWSBM says something like, "Well when you get tired of the convertible the GWSBM Foundation is always accepting donations."

This made me laugh out loud (because I was thinking relatively the same thing), and since I'm always in Super Shy Mode when I'm around people I haven't been around much before (i.e. my new officemates), this was something new and different and shocked one of my new desk neighbors so much that he felt the need to comment about it. (Which can be really annoying to us Super Shy people sometimes.)

GWSBM made a comment too. Something like, 'Hey, she laughs!'

And I replied with something like, "Of course I laugh. I've been laughing at you for days now."

That made the guys chortle, which made my day because I think it earned me some cool points. Since I need all the cool points I can get I'll be hoarding those like a muthafugga. The guys congratulated me on a fabulous comeback and I bowed graciously and thanked them and the academy.

I don't always have the right comeback, or even a semi-decent one, when the time calls for it. Most of the time I think of the comeback minutes, hours, even days later, when its too late to use it. But sometimes... sometimes a zinger comes to me and I'm able to spit it out in a complete and coherent sentence for all within earshot to enjoy and savor.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Guess I missed the warning that said 'May cause involuntary Alarm Off Button Pushing.'

Well, this day officially sucks. It's only 8:10 in the morning and I feel completely confident that I can accurately file today under S for Suck.

Matthew McConaughey could come in here and say, "Penelope Cruz's broken both her legs and I want to be in a movie with you." And I might change my mind. But barring that...

So last night I had a little lot of trouble sleeping. At about 1:30 am I hopped on the internet and tried to tire myself out by reading blogs and taking complicated, thought provoking internet quizzes (see previous post). I was only able to read a couple blogs and take 1 quiz before I started feeling sleepy, but since that was the goal I felt pleased with this high achievement of success. I rewarded myself with a turning off of the computer and with a tinkling in the potty. Apparently tinkling was a bad idea. The time it took to tinkle was enough time for my brain to recharge and go into hyper active mode. My brain was jumping from point A to Q to D to 9 to... it was all over the charts with random thoughts. Why it chose to be super thoughtful at 2 in the morning I have no idea. I probably should have stayed up and explored this super thoughtful brain; I could have invented something cool like soundless Velcro! But I had to go to work. And being at work is sucky enough without the added suckiness of being tired from lack of sleep.
So I laid back in bed and tried to fall asleep, tried to shut the brain down for the night, but it was a no go. Time for Plan B. I decided to count sheep. Do you ever count sheep? If you do, do you picture the cute little Serta Counting Sheep? I do. They're the best kind to count.

So I'm laying there, picturing a cute little Serta Counting Sheep walk up to a fence and jump gaily over it. It baaaaa's and exits stage right. I repeated the process and it went a little something like this...

2 sheep ... *jump* ...baaa
3 sheep ... *jump* ...baaa
I haven't read LKH's blog in awhile. I wonder if she's posted anything interesting lately.
Arrrrrghh! No more thinking!!!!
4 sheep... *jump* ...baaa
5 sheep... *jump* ...baaa
The new Harry Potter book cover looks cool and...
Arrrrgghhh! No more thinking!!!!
6 sheep... *jump* ...baaa
7 sheep... *jump* ...baaa
Maybe I should close the window in the living room. That might help.
Arrrrgghhh! No more thinking!!!!
Where was I ... uh...
3 sheep... *jump* ...baaa
4 sheep...
Why did God have to include sinuses in the body that ache and create mucus and swell or whatever until only a miniscule amount of air can get through you nose so you can't breath right. Was it really necessary for this model (the Eve GT3000!) to include this particular feature?... Ooh that's funny. I should write that down. No, wait, if I'm thinking its funny in my current mental state then it won't seem even remotely funny tomorrow. Why am I thinking about this? I should be asleep. Come to think of it, some of my best writing has been done in this in-between state of consciousness and sleep. Some funny stuff too. Not all of its been good, but occasionally out pops a few gems. Maybe I should grab a pen and paper and see if anything good plops out... OR MAYBE I SHOULD JUST GO TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!!

It was at that point that I decided to take some Nyquil. It will be good for my cold and it might help me fall asleep, I thought. I swear, every other time I've taken Nyquil it hasn't effected me, drowsy wise. But this current round of allergy attack, I've taken Nyquil twice and its helped conk me out. Strange. So I thought I'd try the magic syrup again. Because maybe if I put the snot to sleep I'll fall asleep myself.

I hesitated for a moment. What if I don't wake up with my alarm, I thought. Nah, that won't happen!

[insert ominous music here that signifies big doom about to happen]

I figured I might feel drowsy in the morning, un-rested and exhausted and it might be a mighty struggle to wake up from a short spat of sleepy time that was only achieved due to the assistance of Nyquil. But I could struggle. I'd get up eventually and it'd be all good. So I took some Nyquil, closed the window in the living room, and laid back in bed. Should I set two alarms just in case the first one doesn't wake me up, I wondered. Nah, I won't need it!

[ominous music increases]

So guess what time I woke up this morning. Go ahead. Guess. (Refer back to title of post if you need a hint.)

If you guessed 'The Exact Same Time You're Shift Starts' you win a thousand bonus loonyville points (not redeemable for monetary value).

I have to be at work at 7:30 am.

I woke up at 7:30 am.


Why, oh why didn't I set that second alarm? *smacks forehead* stupid stupid stupid.

My sleep deprived drugged self turned off the frelling alarm. I'm lucky I even woke up when I did.

So I did the mad morning dash, ran out the door fully dressed and brushed and deodorized, and managed to get to work only a half hour late. Crap balls!

And it was foggy outside this morning, even at my apartment, but I was so rushed I couldn't enjoy it. Dammit. But I was only rushing up to the point I got in my car. I never rush when I'm driving to work, no matter how late I am. I've passed enough accidents on the freeways on my way to work to know its not worth it. Since it was foggy out I took a deep breath, calmed down, and made extra special care not to drive too crazy-like. Which was a good thing, because since it was later than I usually leave, kids were out and about walking to school. Kids who thought it was fun to run out into the street in the fog. Dumb asses. That was so not needed in my already frazzled state.

So I got to work a half hour late. Not too bad I guess. I thought about not clocking in, going 'oops' when my supervisor says 'hey, you for got to clock in on Wednesday'. It would be a little demerit or count against me or whatever they do around here, but he usually doesn't do anything about it because I rarely forget. (Notice I typed 'rarely' and not 'never'. Heh.) I doubt anyone noticed I wasn't here when I should have been, but just to be on the safe side in case someone was looking for me and making a big deal that I wasn't here, I clocked in. Late. Which is also grounds for a ding on the record. But I'll work my 8 hours and hopefully Mr. Supervisor Man will be cool and not want to deal with the paper work associated with dinging a late employee.

But hey, on the bright side, at least I feel refreshed and wide awake! Woo!

i knew it!

i knew i wasn't a total loser. take that george spinkleman and shove it up your lopsided hiney!

I am 32% loser. What about you? Click here to find out!

i don't actually know a george spinkleman. but if i did i'm sure he would have called me a total loser. and i'm sure i would have told him to shove it up something. that lopsided hiney part was just total fabrication manifested from my sleep deprived mind.

dude, if i am ever in a band, i think i'm going to suggest we call ourselves Fabrication Manifested. because that would so totally rock.

i've so totally got to get off this word fetish thing i have with the word 'total'. i don't even like its cereal.

Dave Attell always made this look like so much fun.

i'm suffering from insomnia tonight/this morning. well, i'm not really suffering now, but i'm pretty darn sure i will be in five hours when i try and wake up. oh joy.

i was like this, all un-sleepy and shit, the night before i went in for jury duty. i blame that un-sleepiness on the accidental nap i had earlier in the day, and the anxiousness i felt about getting to do the whole jury thing. because i was psyched to do it dudes!

but i can't find an excuse for tonight's insomnia. i didn't take a nap. i'm not anxious about anything that's happening tomorrow (though i was planning on an elaborate big toenail cutting extravaganza... but i doubt that's having any effect over my lack REM status)

i stayed up later than normal to watch tv. and i'm thinking since i was tired before that, my brain dipped into emergency reserve fuel, and it won't stop running until all the energy has been spent . so i thought i'd jump online, get a little multi finger action going to stimulate the brain, and maybe do a crossword or two later. that should wear down the brain.

and thus making me completely worthless tomorrow/today.


*does the crazy banana dance*

gah! why can't i fall asleep???

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. be stuck in an elevator with luciano pavarotti OR donald rumsfeld?

Donald. Because he's smaller.

2. have to kill a bird with your bare hands OR have to run over a dog with your car?

I ain't killing anything with my bare hands. I'll give it a judo chop to knock its ass out but that's it. Sorry doggy.

3. have the power to fly, but have to use the bathroom every 30 minutes OR have super strength but be blind?

It would suck to be blind. And I've been drinking so much water today to flush out all the coffee I drank this morning that if my potty breaks haven't been every 30 minutes, it sure as hell has seemed like it. But it hasn't been that bad. It's been good exercise. So give me the power to fly.

4. look like alfred hitchcock OR edgar allen poe?

I don't want to look any fatter than I already do, so I'd rather look like Poe. Then at least I'd have interesting hair. My hair is so blah lately.

Another fog memory just came to mind, as fog memories are want to do...

I went to college (the few years that I have gone) in a city known for its fog. Well, known in the surrounding cities for its fog. It's not like the city's recognized world wide for the fog it gets. Well, as far as I know. Its not like I've investigated its recognition status on a global scale or anything...

Well, like I was saying, Bakersfield gets really foggy during fog season.

So one day during my first year in college, me and my college buddies decided to go see Bakersfield's double A hockey team in action. Nowadays the team is called the Condors. Cool name. Cool mascot. Cool logo with a badass condor gripping a hockey stick with its badass birdy feet.

Badass birdy feet = coolness personified.

But back then? Back when I first saw them play they were known as The Fog. The Bakersfield Fog.

And their mascot?


I kid you not. Their mascot was a big blob of fog! Some poor shmoe had to dress up in a fog costume. It didn't exactly rally up the fans and strike fear in the hearts of The Other Team. Because the mascot guy was a cloud of fog! Nothing cool like a hotdog or a crab. Nope. He was fog. It looked like a weird bunch of really stale grapes.

It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

And, come to think of it, so was the hockey team. Heh.

Currently wondering how one should go about suggesting mandatory Recess Time to Management

My work place is covered in fog. If I was at my old desk I'd be able to stare out the window in front of me and reflect pleasantly upon the fog's fogginess. But They moved me upstairs to a cubicle type area in the middle of the floor with no window to stare out of. There's not a single window in sight! Bastards.

Not that fog is all that interesting to look at. But sometimes a girl's just got to look at some fog, you know?

Why? To uh... to put her in the mood. The mood for... er... paperwork! That's it. I haven't figured out what exactly puts me in the mood for doing paperwork. It just might be fog. And now I'll never know because I have no fog to look at. *sigh*

I stepped out of my apartment this morning and was met with a beautiful sight. It had rained earlier this morning so everything glittered and shimmered under the presence of bright shiny sunshine rays. The rain soaked leaves on the trees glisten, the rain soaked leaves that had fallen off the trees and rudely littered my front porch twinkled, the rain soaked metal railing that keeps the second floor apartment dwellers from running out their doors and falling off their front porch walk space areas (I have no idea what you call 'em) sparkled.

It was a beautiful and uplifting sight that left me in a good mood. It was all those twinkling and sparkling dewy rain drops. They hypnotized me, tricked me in to being in a good mood even though I was on my way to work. Bastards.

So I drove to work in the midst of these bright shiny sunshine rays. Well, for the first part of the drive that is. As I changed freeways (I take two to work) I suddenly drove into Fog World. There was no gradual shift into Fog World. No time to think, 'hey, I think its getting kind of foggy around here.' It was like BAM! Different freeway, different world. Sunshine over there, fog over here. Strange, that was. And the fog got thicker the closer I got to work.

And thinking about how thick it was [insert dirty minded joke here] made a particular memory pop to the forefront of my mind. I remembered how I used to play hide-n-go-seek in the fog when I was in the first or second grade, and how much fun it was. I'm not sure which grade it was exactly, probably both, because in both grades I was at Oak Grove. And Oak Grove had (to the eyes of a first/second grader at least) an enormous playground. And where ever the school grounds were located was prime for awesomely thick fog.

I remember how my friends and I would run out onto the field, out into the fog until we couldn't see each other any more. Then we'd run and play until we were forced back to Reality, a.k.a. the Classroom, because playing in that kind of fog, a fog so think you couldn't see past the fingernails of your outstretched hand, was like playing in a whole other world.

Sometimes we played Marco Polo. "Marco," the unfortunate soul who had been chosen as 'it' would yell. "Polo," cried several discombobulated voices from the ether. It was like being in Mother Nature's very own carnival Fun House. And it ever so nicely evened up the playing field, being in the thick fog, because everyone who was 'not it' was just as blind as the 'it' guy. "Marco" a voice yelled, giving us a point of reference so we knew where not to run. "Polo," we replied as we ran through the fog, into the nothingness in front of us, not knowing what, or who, we'd run into. And not really caring while we did, as one so young is so able to do.

It was scary and thrilling at the same time, that not knowing. One wonders if, in one's older and slightly more jaded stage in life, with the carry on baggage of Experience and Wider Knowledge of What Big Bad Scary Monsters Are Actually Out There that has trouble fitting in the overhead compartment, if one would find it as thrilling, that running and not knowing. One wonders, and thinks... yes.

So yeah, I'm sitting here missing recess time. And running around playing tag with my friends in a fog so thick we eventually ended up smacking into one another because we couldn't see anything until they were smack dab in front of us.

Because that right there is fun my friends. That is pure and simple fun.

All those rumors you've heard about me are false. Except for maybe the velvet chicken one.

No, I'm not dead. And no, I didn't chance upon a pot of gold and leave the world of rat racing behind. And no, I don't know how scary Michael Jackson looks in person because I'm not on his jury (thank goodness). I'm done serving my judicial duty, which I did quite marvelously thank you very much. *takes bow*

I'm all find and dandy, if 'fine and dandy' can include such states as being overworked and underpaid and inflicted with the evils of snot.

I haven't blogged in awhile, a fact in which I will try and remedy by posting this bit, and as many other bits as I can get away with here at work. The blog hiatus happened because, well, you see, there was jury duty (which I did for 9 frelling days and might write about later) and I included in the break from the work computer the home computer as well (to which my eyes thanked me extensively. You should see the cute little card they sent). And then there was this recovery period at work from Paperwork Overload because of the jury duty. And my allergies have been acting up for the past week or so, turning my body into a mass producing snot factory. And now there's this whole desk relocation situation I'm dealing with at work, which is going to make blogging from here a bit trickier. I'll have to start getting in the habit of blogging from home again I think. Or becoming sneakier at work. Or both. Yeah, both. :)

Now if blogger would stop being such a pain in the ass and actually let me post this sometime in the next millennia...