Fifty Word Fiction Friday

Promiscuous Bill

Bill couldn't believe the newspaper article. Senator Suzie McHeadupherass was trying to pass a bill to outlaw vasectomies!

"I believe vasectomies promote male promiscuity," the senator was quoted as saying.

Bill shook his head. He'd always thought being from fucking Nova Scotia was the reason for all his manly whoring.


This is my submission to Jodi's 50 Word Fiction Friday Challenge Vol. IV.

The Challenge : story should include vasectomies and Nova Scotia
The Incentive : super extra gooey chocolate chippy bonus points
The Inspiration : one of Jodi's previous posts, including the comments.

This 50WF thing is just too much fun. :)

Search strings and hawaiin shirt dreams, that's what little blogs are made of.

Dude, I am currently the forth listed site for the search query midget cucumber tongs.

How much does that rock? Go me!

And speaking of midget cucumber tongs...

Its Hawaiian Shirt Day and no one told me!

Actually, yesterday was Wear a Hawaiian Shirt to Work Day as well. And there are these cheesy Hawaiian themed party decorations (circa 99 cent store) hanging up in the front lobby. Green palm tree stickers on the windows. Grass skirts hanging from the receptionist's desk. Colorful plastic flower leis hanging here and there. And these heavily glazed wooden... thingies... sitting on the window ledges. It's kinda half-assed looking. But hey, thanks for the effort, I guess.

The Hawaiian theme is part of some sort of Employee Moral Boosting Extravaganza that Management (easily spotted in the silly Hawaiian shirts) cooked up. I'd know more, if I were invited to partake in the festivities. I don't even know if there are festivities! Rumor is, though, that there are little goody bags certain Members of Management are handing out. I don't get one, because they're only for those people in the Production Department, who I guess need a boot boosted up the ol' moral.

But what about me? What about my moral boosting needs? I wasn't let in on the whole Hawaiian shirt dealio and now I feel so out of place! Throw me a frickin' bone here Members of Management!

(Frickin' bone = goodie bag)

Really, I think everyone on the second floor is wearing a Hawaiian shirt today except for me. Because I'm not management. I'm just up here to be at the beck and call of management. Yay me. (I just spotted a nonconformist! She's wearing normal clothes today! I'm no longer the only non-hawaiian-shirt-decked-out person!

It's quite entertaining though, to see Management parade back and forth in front of my desk in their ugly Hawaiian shirts. I don't believe, as a rule, that all Hawaiian shirts are ugly. I have nothing against Hawaiian shirts, and wouldn't be against owning any myself. It's just that the ones on display yesterday and today were and are, frankly, quite hideous. Mr. Supervisor With The Napoleon Complex is wearing an especially gaudy H-shirt today. He was asking me a few questions earlier and I had to keep looking away from him and his ugly shirt, lest it blind my eyeballs forever.

Yesterday this one guy went all out in the Hawaiian clothes theme. He had on a white surfer/skater type shirt, bright red and white and yellow flowered hawaiian board shorts and a Gilligan type hat. At work! On a Thursday! Today he's just in a wild looking Hawaiian shirt. Very nice. Kudos on the threads dude!

I just heard, from the Big Boss herself, that Board Shorts Gilligan Guy will be required to wear the Gilligan hat tomorrow, as well as one of the grass skirts. Sounds like fun. Maybe I should work this Saturday after all.

Today, Girl Who's Office Is Directly Across From Me (aka Owner of the Cell Phone With The Annoying Message Ringtone) is wearing those cheap plastic leis and a big ass flower in her hair. *sniff* I want a big ass flower in my hair too! How come no one told me I could dress up today.

Not that I own a Hawaiian shirt or cheap plastic leis, but still, it's the thought that would have counted. I guess I'll just have to sit here and dream about what could have been.

On a happier note... midget cucumber tongs!

Interoffice Memo Time Revisited

FROM : Everyone Within Hearing Range Of Thoughtless Coworker's Office.
TO : Thoughtless Coworker
RE : The Intolerable Abandonment Of Your Cell Phone With The Annoying Ringtone

Stop it.

Please, for the love of all things small and fuzzy stop it now!

You keep leaving your cell phone on your desk when you run off to meetings or lunch or whatever. This wouldn't be a problem, really, if people didn't call you. Which they do. Every single time you leave your phone behind. Without fail! And these people that call you? They leave messages.

Have you heard the message ringtone on your phone? It's not that bad the first time you hear it. But the twentieth plus time in a row? Pure torture!

Of course you have the volume on the loudest setting. And of course you've added super sonic speakers so that everyone upstairs can hear the incessant, ear-bleedingly-annoying message ringtone as it plays over and over and over again. The damn thing goes off every thirty seconds.

Every. Thirty. Seconds!!!

Bitch, turn off your phone! Arrrrrrrgggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!

Due to severe agitation and emotional distress, we are not liable for any cell phone breakage or voice message interuptus that may occur.

Annoyingly,
Your Highly Agitated Coworkers

...

Wait a minute? Is it Annoy Lisa Day?

Oh. That's right ... The above office memo should be signed, 'Your Highly Agitated and Premenstrual Coworkers'

For some reason, for this ride on the PMS Rollercoaster of Fun, I am in a highly agitated state of being. More so than usual.

Today, I am full of the grrrrrrrrrr.

I think it would be prudent to warn the HB. Maybe get him a card? If they don't make Hallmark cards for such an occasion, they should.

Front of Card :
To my wonderful [ boyfriend / husband / significant other/ sex slave / etc ]

Inside of Card:
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
I am PMS-ing hardcore
And will rip your fucking head off if you so much as look at me like I'm overreacting about anything.

You have been warned.


And then I could sign it 'with all my love'. Heh. Maybe add a bunch of smiley faces and x's and o's. And doodle a bunch of hearts all over the place. That'd be a nice touch I think.

Interoffice Memo Time

FROM : Whiney McWhinerson
TO : Coworkers
RE: Your hideous lack of prompt communication skills

Would you please be so kind as to answer your effin phone for chrimeny's sake! I have work I have to do. Work you need done. And I have questions. Questions because you didn't give me all the information I needed. So I call you, in need of some answers, but you don't bother to answer you phones! I can't believe I'm about to quote the munchkin from Full House but... How rude!

Is sitting by your phone, in eager anticipation of a possible call from moi, so hard to do? I think not.

Office-ally Yours,
Lisa the Systems Goddess And Ruler Of All Things (Not Currently Ruled Over By Higher Up Muckety Mucks)

...

No one is answering their phones today. It's like some kind of freaky phenomenon thing. Like, its suddenly raining for no reason (!) so hey let's make everyone I need to talk to not available. Fun! They're all busy. Or home sick. Or some other lame excuse. Whatever!

What about me? What about my needs?

*sigh*

Now that I've whined that out of my system... where have I heard that phrase before? That 'my needs' bit? Isn't a quote from a movie or tv show or something? It sounds so familiar.

It's been a frustrating day so far, and holy fuzz nuggets its only half over! But there's been heavily frosted cinnamon rolls on the community food desk so that's been good. Or bad, if you're my ass. But I'm ignoring the ass today. Yes, sometimes the ass can be ignored in matters of the happy, especially when frosting is involved.

Where the hell was I going with this... eh, I have no idea. Too much happy frosting I think. D'oh!

Dude! Someone sitting behind me just said, 'uuuummmm yeahhhhhhh.' Just like Bill from the movie Office Space. That just so totally made my day!

*giggle*

My name is Lisa and I be of the Easily Amused variety.

My Girl Detective Obsession is Steele Going Strong

If anyone reading the last post recognized the phone number, fax number, or address on the business card, they probably watch way too much television with a particular fixation on excellent shows featuring kick ass girl detectives with hunky male sidekicks. Either that, or they've memorized these two sites, which I think might be kind of fun, in a dorky kind of way.

According to this site, which lists A TON of 555-whatever phone numbers from tv shows and movies, 555-6235 is Laura Holt's phone number. She was the kick ass private detective that was the brains behind Remington Steele. Pierce Brosnan was the hunky male sidekick. I absolutely love that show and still wouldn't mind growing up to be as pretty and detective-y as Laura Holt. Especially if that means working with a hunky Pierce look-alike. :)

555-6431, according to the same site, is Dana Scully's phone number. She was the kick ass FBI agent from The X-Files, with David Duchovny as the hunky male sidekick Mulder. He wasn't as hunky as Pierce, but still pretty hunky. I loved that show (not counting the last two seasons because they sucked major elephant turd suckage) and at one point in time wanted to be just like Scully. Without the alien abduction thing. And without the cancer thing. And the weird pregnancy thing. Just the kick ass FBI agent thing.

The 'Century City Towers' address is the address of the Remington Steele Detective Agency. I found the address from this site that lists all kinds of tv show building addresses.

These websites are a bit obsessive, yes, but totally cool. At least to this tv junky. :)

Happy Administrative Professionals Day!

In case you're not in the PC loop, 'Administrative Professional' is PC code for 'Secretary'. I don't know why the word 'secretary' needs to be flowered up. Secretaries kick ass. Everyone knows this. And if they don't, well, they don't count. But no, some secretaries don't like being called 'secretaries'. They want to be called administrative assistants, or administrative professionals, or administrative whatevers, or admin ass, or... okay, maybe not that last one. But it's a handy abbreviation for some people, such as the beyotch who was our last secretary administrative professional.

I guess some people think of secretaries as being just phone answerers and filers and low man on the totem pole slugs. So maybe it makes some secretaries administrative professionals feel better to have a fancier, more official sounding title. I know it would make me feel all squishy inside to get a fancy schmancy title. Something cool I could have printed on a business card.

My official title is currently 'administrative assistant'. Not so fancy sounding, eh? Makes me sound like I'm a secretary. Which I'm not.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you.

Whenever I say that I'm an admin assistant I wonder if people think I'm trying to make myself sound better by using an all important sounding office title. I'm not. I just don't know how else to say what my job is.

"I... uh... stare at a computer screen all day. And... uh... work with this maintenance software thingy and uh..."

Administrative Assistant sound much better. More office-y. But I'm not really an assistant. Sure, I assist my fellow coworkers, because I'm all Super Employee like that, but I'm not an administrative sidekick. That's what assistant means: sidekick. And I'm not Robin to anyone's Batman around here. I'm my own Batman! A Batman who has many bosses, but nonetheless, still Batman. More like Batwoman, actually, since I have girly equipment, but you know what I mean. (Hopefully. Heh.)

I have a spiffy title that I attach in emails and such, but officially, in the record books I'm still an 'administrative assistant'. I'm getting a new title in a few months though because They want to keep me around and waived the promise of more money under my nose during my last evaluation. They gave me a little bit but can't give as much as They say They want to under my current 'title' so they're going to make a new title up for me so they can give me more money. A new (and probably highly superfluous, I'm sure) title. Just for me. Because I'm Super Employee.

I'm hoping for something like... Dynamic Applications Manager (my title initials would be DAM!). Or maybe Principal Usability Strategy Specialist (PUSS!) It's just a bullshit title, doesn't have to mean anything. If it did, I'd have to suggest something along the lines of Super Administrator Goddess Extraordinaire. Or something business card worthy like...





So I guess you could say today is a holiday in honor of me. I do administrative stuffs. And I'm a professional. No, really I am. I may not act like it all the time, but I get paid dammit! That means I'm legit. Too legit to quit, if I may be so bold as to suggest such an amazing characteristic of myself.

So happy Admin Pro Day to me! And happy Admin Pro Day to all you little worker bees out there! I hope your special say is going to be as special as mine. Because today, the Management Team here wants to recognize all us lowly members of the Admin Pro Team with a luncheon. Free food! Woo!

10 Stupid Things I Did As A Kid

It's really hard to come up with 10 because I'm practically perfect in every way. Me and my friend Mary. I mean, the very idea is incredibly preposterous. Me? Doing stupid things? Phsshaw! Whatever dudes!

Actually, I've done a lot of stupid things. I just can't think of any good ones at the moment. None of them are really monumentally stupid, they're just lame. But here's the list anyways... in no particular order...


1. I let my cousin talk me into putting a 9 volt battery on my tongue once. Because once is all it takes, really. Honestly, there was no real 'talking into' involved. He said, 'here, do this' and I said, 'okay sure!'. I don't recommend it. Sonovabitch stings!

2. I broke the towel rack in the bathroom, semi fixed it, then talked my brother into hanging from it. Then I acted shocked and dismayed when it broke. He got in so much trouble. And I still feel horrible about it. I'm such a bad sister.

3. Trying to hug the cat while my brother turns on the vacuum cleaner. The cat freaked like some kind of freaking thing, extended its claws, then used me like a diving board, flew through the air, and ran for safety. I still have the scar on my chest where the cat's claw dug in.

4. Trying to drink punch in the middle of a big laugh-fest. Result: I snorted red punch out my nose and all over my white t-shirt. And I was at a school camp thing and couldn't change right away.

5. I used to tell this joke, when I was in the first / second grade, that went something like this:

Q: If you had five Michael Jackson buttons and gave one away, how many Michael Jackson buttons would you have?
A: Five! Who would ever give a Michael Jackson button away!!! (See? Completely stupid! But at the time, Oh So Funny.)

6. Riding my bicycle with my flip flops on. Somehow, as I'm sure only the really awkward and clumsy can manage, my big toe jumped into the spokes of the bike's front wheel. I flew off the bike and had asphalt skid marks on my knees and hands for weeks. Ouch.

7. In the fifth / sixth grade I made up a rap song about the awesomeness of the spork and chickened out when it came time to perform the rap with a friend of mine in front of the entire school. (As I remember it, someone was actually going to let us sing the praises of the spork over the school's intercom.) The song isn't the stupid part, the chickening out part is. What if a recording agent was there, at my elementary school, looking for The Next Big Thing?! I could have missed my chance of being a rap super star!

8. Diving into the pool wearing my cute new bikini during my first ever boy/girl birthday party in the second grade without first testing out the all important staying-on ability of the bikini bottoms. I dove in and the bikini bottoms went WOOSH right down to my feet. Right in front of boys! I don't know if anyone saw, but I learned to test drive the bathing suits before putting them, and my fabulous diving abilities, on display. This incident can also be filed under One Of The Most Embarrassing Moments Of My Life.

9. Sitting on an old wooden bench, in a swimsuit, then sliding across the old wooden bench. And that's all I'm gonna say about that one. (Another incident to be filed under 'Most Embarrasing').

10. At a sleep over, I crank-called one of the other girl's older brother and told him I was the police and he had to turn his music down or else. Totally not my idea, I was peer pressured into it. And not for one second did we ever think that the brother wouldn't fall for it, that he wouldn't immediately, after hearing my ten year old voice, know it was a prank call. We were such amateurs!

Tuesday is Chooseday!

Would you rather...

1. eat earthworm cake OR ladybug ice cream?

Icky!

I'd rather eat ladybug ice cream. Ladybugs are smaller than earthworms and probably more easier to ignore. If you swallowed a great big scoop of ice cream you might not even notice the little ladybugs inside. And I could eat the ice cream so fast that my tongue turns numb and I wouldn't notice a thing. Or a ladybug.

Icky!

2. punch your best friend in the face OR kick one of your parents in the shin?

Uh... sorry Z, but I think I'll be punching you in the face.

I might be able to kick my dad in the shin but...

... well, it'd be easier to sell tickets for a girl on girl fight. :)

3. have your teeth turn brown OR your finger nails turn yellow?

I'd rather have my fingernails turn yellow because I need my smile in tip top shape. It's my moneymaker! It's what draws in the crowds (which the ta-ta's deny vigorously, those egomaniacs.)

But seriously, I could paint the yellow fingernails with nail polish a lot easier than I could paint the brown teeth.

4. wear a tutu over everything OR wear a top hat all the time?

Dude, I'd so be rockin' the tutu. I'd have one in every color. And I'd have tutu accessories, like beads and spangles and glow-in-the-dark glitter and other sparkly things. I'd have mood tutu's that change color. I'd have big and loud tutu's, small and sophisticated tutu's, club hopping tutu's and gardening tutu's.

Hey, wait a minute here...

*sniff sniff*

Can you smell that?

*sniff sniff*

That's the smell of a BRILLIANT money making idea! This is how I'm going to make my millions! Tutu's will be to fashion what Avril Lavigne's neck ties are to rock music. Or... uh... something that's a better example. Heh.

Don't you even think about stealing my idea now, k? It's mine. But if anyone wants in on this groundbreaking project, I'm taking applications for partners. I'm not greedy. I'll share my soon-to-be-billion-dollar-empire with my peeps. :)

Stuck-At-Work-On-A-Saturday inspired office poetry.

Pre-Hyptnotized Peter

What Office Space character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


And now, a poem...

Today is a beautiful Saturday
And I am stuck here at the office.
I don't usually hate my job
But today, its my ass that the job can kiss!

I've taken my break
And still I have an hour left to go.
I have to hurry and finish this crap
Or I'll be stuck here again tomorrow!

My '50 Word Fiction Friday' Challenge Submission

How Mom Taught Me To Deal With Overzealous Salespeople

The saleswoman smiled. "Can I interest you in-"
"No thank you," mom kindly declined."Yes, but-"
"No thank you."
"How about-""No. Thank. You."
The saleswoman walked away.
And returned ten minutes later.
"Can I interest you-"She caught only a glimpse of mom's purse before it knocked her out.


The previous was written for this week's 50 Word Fiction Friday Challenge issued by Jodi.

The Challenge: 'include some aspect of the sales industry'

The Inspiration: the really annoying saleslady at monkeyward's that kept following me and my mom around the store asking if we needed help or wanted to sign up for some special deal they had going on. My mom kept saying no, and the saleslady kept following us around.

The Truth Behind The Fiction: No, my mom never physically assaulted the saleslady. But I'm sure she thought about it at least fleetingly. Maybe thought about throwing a hanger or two at her so she'd shut up and go away. I'm telling ya, the woman was A-NNOY-ING!

Part II: The Rest of The Story (aka The Part Where I'm Psychic)

Last night's dream had a similar theme as the ones mentioned in the previous post, but it felt a hundred times more real.

You know how you remember a dream differently than you remember an actual event in your life? There's a difference to them. A different sort of... well... film quality. Or type of film. 8mm vs. digital. Or something. The dream last night though, I don't remember it as I would remember a dream. I remember it as an actual event. An actual memory. It just doesn't have the same... texture to it. I am starting to remember less of it, though. It's starting to fade like a lot of dreams do after too much attention is paid upon them.


I 'woke up' sometime last night and heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. The footsteps appeared to be no louder than when the HB normally runs up the stairs. This time, I think, this is the real thing. It's not like the last dream. There's no exaggerated shaking of the floor. This sounds real.

Looking back on it now, it took too long for the footsteps to reach the top. It took just long enough for me to rationalize how 'normal' they were. And thinking that this wasn't a dream like last time should have been a tip off, but you don't always think like that in dreams. At least I never have.

So in the dream, I remember thinking, how nice, the HB got off of work early.

I sensed or heard him come in to the bedroom. There were no shaking / pounding footsteps like before, I just knew he was there. He came over to my side of the bed and placed a kiss on my cheek. I remember smiling inside, as I usually do when he does this. I tried to say, 'hey babe' in a dreamy half-asleep voice but I had trouble talking. Which is weird to me in the dream because I thought I was more awake than that.

You know how some times it's a struggle to wake up in the morning? Like a real struggle to actually physically wake up and be able to move muscles and have rational thought? You're lying there with two options: you could give up, give into the void and sleep for another 10 hours, or fight your way out of the fog and emerge into Awake Land.

That's what this was like. I couldn't move. I couldn't talk, like I wasn't awake enough to talk yet, though my mind was clearly awake. It almost made me panic. What's wrong? Why can't I talk?! I struggled just to moan so that the HB could hear me. I really wanted him to know that I was awake, that I wasn't just sleeping. I'm not sure why. Once I made a little bit of sound I tried talking again. It was still a struggle, an abnormal struggle, but I managed to quietly mumble 'hey babe.'

And that's all I remember. I woke up later, for real this time, and realized that the HB wasn't home and that I'd had another dream.

It was so real, and nothing about it feels like a dream. Well, other than the warping of time. The pounding footsteps took too long to climb the stairs. And why didn't I hear the HB come into the apartment and shuffle around the living room before coming into the bedroom? So there was a small leap in time there. Oh yeah, and the whole 'I can't talk' thing was a bit creepy and eerily dream like. But other than that... :)


And now on to the part that really had me spooked.

The dream woke me up around 5:30 this morning, and since I had the alarm set for 6:00 I decided I might as well get up and write the dream down while it was still fresh in my head. So there I am, sitting on the couch with paper and pencil, writing about the dream I just had, as well as writing about the similar dreams I had a couple of weeks ago.

And as I'm thinking about the last batch of dreams I remember that they happened on the same night that the HB got into his car accident. They happened right before the HB phoned me for a ride actually.

And I think, holy crap! What if I've become psychic and he's in trouble again! I think about calling him, but then realize I'm just being silly. I think about the similarities of the dreams, and what happened differently this time, and then I think, holy crap! What if he's dead and that kiss was him saying goodbye like he tried to do in the last dream but didn't because he didn't actually die but this time he did and oh my god I'm psychic!

It made total sense to me. The pieces totally fit together. A couple of weeks ago he was in an car accident. A car accident that he could easily have died in if just a couple of circumstances were different. With the dream I sensed the perilous danger he was in, but there was no kiss because he didn't need to say goodbye to me. This time, the dream was different. This time there was a kiss. I've heard the stories about people seeing loved ones around the moment they die, in visions or whatnot, even though the loved ones are far away at the time of their death. It's a freaky phenomenon that I totally believe in, though its never happened to me before.

This morning though, I seriously thought it was possible that it could have happened to me with that dream. I was pretty sure nothing bad had happened. I mean, things like that don't happen to lil' ol' me. Yep, pretty sure about things was I.

But I still jumped off of the couch, raced for the phone, and called the HB. Just to be completely sure.

He answered the phone and I felt relieved. He was fine. Nothing bad had happened. He hadn't come home in the middle of the night, it was all just a silly dream. The boyfriend is fine. And I am fine. Well, now I am, after I've had a few hours to let the anxious adrenaline drain from my body.

I don't want to have this freaky 'seems so real' dream any more. I don't like it. I want to have dreams like the one I had a couple of days ago in the interim between the freaky faux-reality dreams. In that dream I was hanging out with my girlfriends and John Heder, the dude from Napoleon Dynamite, and some of the girlfriends and John start smoking pot and I for some reason become keeper of the small cardboard box where all the lit joints go and one of the joints is rolled up like a tube of toothpaste and while I don't know much about smoking pot I do know that that just doesn't look right but I figure maybe I'll smoke it anyway and sneak into the kitchen where no one can see me because I'm embarrassed and don't know what I'm doing and...

Yeah. Those surreal celebrity dreams are much more fun to remember.

"I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough." - MC Escher

I had this dream last night that kind of really had me spooked this morning. It was similar to the back-to-back dreams I had a couple weeks ago, but different. This one was more real. So freaking real. And in the end, this one turned out to be more disturbing too.

The last time I had a dream like this it was pretty freaky. I woke up because I thought I heard footsteps in the apartment - or I thought I woke up - it was actually just a part of the dream. Normally, if the HB walks with heavy steps you can hear the clomp clomp clomp of his footsteps, and maybe feel a slight tremor from the floor but that's it.

In my dream though, the apartment was shaking like the floor here at my office does when someone walks across the floor with a determined purpose. I could feel the apartment shake with each footstep, I could hear the deep rumbling of the walls and floor shaking, of the windows rattling in their frames. In the dream, the footsteps were louder than normal, causing more structural movement than normal, and in the dream I realized this was weird. 'That's a bit much... almost like an earthquake,' I thought to myself in the dream, '...but its not an earthquake... it must be the HB... he must be home.'

And as I'm thinking this to myself in the dream, I could have sworn the footsteps came into the bedroom. So I waited for the HB to come over and give me a kiss on the cheek, which he sometimes does when he comes home and I'm still asleep (which usually only happens on weekends) and I absolutely love it when he does that. So I'm waiting, but nothing happens. And for some reason I start to panic because I'm positive I heard/felt footsteps in the apartment. If it was the HB he would have given me a kiss (which isn't a definite-always thing, but this is dream-reasoning here) so since I didn't get a kiss... holy crap what if someone else is in the apartment??? I think this and get super freaked. My senses become all super heightened like they do when you're nervous and/or can sense imminent danger. I strained to hear or sense the presence of someone else, but there wasn't anything to sense. I eventually relaxed, sufficiently self-convinced that no one was in the apartment with me, because if they were they would have made their move by now. So I relaxed. For a few moments. And then had the dream all over again.

The dream was SO real, so freaking like real life that when I woke up moments later I didn't realize that I had just woken up. I thought I'd been awake for awhile, hearing footsteps, that it was all a real memory. Only after awhile, after I thought about the abnormal footsteps and about how paranoid I had gotten, did I realize it was dream. I fell asleep a few minutes later, only to have the dream again. I thought I was still awake, hearing and feeling the footsteps again. It was enough to drive a girl crazy. Actually, now that I think about it, I didn't realize it was a dream until after the second dream that night.

Each time I had the dream I could have sworn I heard real footsteps, I felt them. It was real. And each time, when I didn't get a kiss, and realized it wasn't the HB's footsteps I heard, I became paranoid that some burglar / rapist was in the apartment. And each time there was a moment in the dream where I thought to myself, 'footsteps don't usually sound like that... cause the building to shake like that... take that long to get anywhere.' In my dreams, I realized that the footsteps were over exaggerated, and with each new dream the exaggeration became less and less. The dreams became more real, more believable as actual states of consciousness.

Its like my brain was trying to figure out the best way to fool me, to trick me into believing that this time the dream wasn't a dream but the real deal.

What the hell is up with that?!?!

Okay, this is becoming a really long post. Part II of the Spooky Dream Saga in a few minutes...

Several minutes later...

I was about to post the previous post when Little Supervisor Man comes up to me and says, "Ready to pop in now?"

As if he knew I was waffling! Either that, or he's just pushy. My money's on both. Heh.

Either way, it worked out well for me. Gave me that extra shove I needed, since he expected me to follow him and I really didn't have an excuse not to. And you know what... it wasn't nearly as bad as my quick-to-freak-out mind imagined it to be.

Now, don't get me wrong, I still sounded like a doofus. I just wasn't as much of a doofus as I have the potential to be. So... uh... go me!

I don't know why I got all anxious about it. I mean, they're my inferiors! They work out on the floor while I work upstairs in an office. I should feel superior! But I don't. Maybe its because the inferior floor workers still make more money than me. (Tightwad company management bitches!) And maybe because I'm just slightly neurotic about such things.

I walked in, gave them all a big rainbow wave (because I be cool like that) and said, "Hi." Apart from the dorky rainbow wave I think I got off to a good start.

I then stood there while my boss mentioned how he'd mentioned to the presentees (recipients of the presentation) that I'll be training them on how to use this particular program. "I threw your name out there a lot," says the boss.

Oh goodie. And btw, thanks boss for heads up on all this stuff!

I stood there, wondering what to do next, when one of the guys in the room started asking me questions. Questions about the training. I was all, "Well... " I didn't have a quick, intelligent answer, but oh well. No biggie. I made stuff up. I best guessed. Because I'm not sure what exactly the bosses want me to train on!!! Grrrr!

Then the boss made a light humored comment about how I'm all strict and shit and if the work doesn't get done right I'll get all crazy program nazi on their asses. He didn't say that exactly, but that's what he implied. Gee, thanks boss. Everyone laughed. I laughed. And I said something like, "I'm not that strict." Because I'm not really. I just get annoyed when the simple shit doesn't get done right because people are too lazy to put even the teensiest bit of effort into their work and I have to waste my time cleaning up after them. Is that strict? Is that asking for too much??? Sheesh!

I then said something I'm sure was pretty asinine. But I can't remember what is now. It sort of slipped past the ol' Brain Check Point, not bothering to stop and show credentials that it was a reasonably sounding sentence. So I'm not sure what I said.

But I have the strangest feeling it was one of those comments that you replay in your mind afterwards, and hear how stupid it sounds, and immediately feel like smacking your forehead to jar the memory permanently from the memory banks.

But maybe no one noticed.

Uh huh. Suuuuuuure. Totally possible. :)

I'm writing this to tell you I'm too busy to write this.

I don't know if I'll have time to write much today. As well as having a lot of work to do, I have to make it look like I have a lot of work to do, which is work in and of itself. So double the work. Double the pleasure, double the fun! Doublemint, doublemint, doublemint gum.

[ And in this Doublemint Gum commercial, the twins are hunky, semi nekkid, copy machine repair men. And they're here to repair the copy machine that's RIGHT in front of my desk. And there's lots of flexing and bending over. It's a very tricky copier and... ]

So yeah, this is me, looking like I have a lot of work to do. A supervisor just came up to me and told me I should pop into this presentation that's going on right now. Because it would be good to introduce myself to the people inside. Because they're going to need my help later and I'm going to have to train them and shit. Bah!

I so don't want to go in there. And I so hate that about myself.

I'm not that person, that person that just goes every where and introduces myself to strangers and knows what to say at a moments notice. I'd like to be that person, but my brain doesn't work that way. I could pop myself into the conference room, that's easy enough, but when it came my turn to talk I'd trip over my tongue. Some people can trip gracefully, but I am not some people. My mom says its because I'm introverted, and my brain thinks faster than my mouth can keep up with. I think that sounds like a fantastic excuse reason.

I know if I went in there I'd start talking jibberish. Like maybe English isn't my first language. Me. The gal who's supposed to teach them stuff later. That's not exactly a good impression for Teacher to make. So then I'd feel like an idiot. Feel more like an idiot that I already feel.
My immediate supervisor is the one giving the presentation. If he wanted/needed me there he would have said so, right? And anything I would cover, he's surely going to cover, right? Like my desk is in the middle of the floor, the only one occupied on Cubicle Island. It's just an introduction, a general overview of what-to-expect kind of thing, not a this-is-what-we're-doing-when-and-where-be-there-or-be-square kind of thing.

I mean, I don't even know what the presentation is about! I've only heard about this 'key leader' thing once, and not by the boss. What possible information could I possibly contribute? And I have to be training people again? Really? That's news to me! I'm glad this trainer knew she was going to have to be setting up training stuff!!!

So I'm busy. Busy busy busy. Can't possibly spare the minutes right now. Sure, I'll be able to spare them when my boss/immediate supervisor asks me to, but until then I'll be busy. Busy working up the nerve to be Miss Pop In Girl.

And by 'Woman Of Restraint' I don't mean anything bondage-y.

This guy was mulling around my desk this morning.

And by 'this guy' I mean the dumbass who couldn't find a clue even if you shoved one up his nose. The man is a complete moron who's absolutely no help to me whatsoever and who has, as of late, been grating on my nerves with an old rusty cheese grater.

And by 'mulling around' I mean he needed to talk to someone the moment they stepped out of someone else's office and had nothing better to do with his time than bug me while he waited.

Oh Lady Luck, you spoil me so!

So Mr. Moron was hanging around me desk, not really saying anything, but bothering me nonetheless. I had my security badge sitting on my desk because I hadn't yet bothered to clip it to my pants. And the picture on that thing? Completely hideous. My smile is open and wide and strained looking. And my eyes are all squinty. Why my eyes go all squinty when I smile I have no idea. Maybe its just cheek fat that gets pushed up by the smile muscles to hide my dazzling eyes. Or maybe I'm part asian. Mom? Did you forget to tell me something???

When I took the picture, I didn't want to be Big Cheesy Grin Girl. I pasted a small simple smile on my face but that wasn't good enough for the picture nazi. 'Why don't you smile?' she says. 'I am smiling bitch,' I think to myself and try to smile just a little bit bigger. I wasn't frowning, I wasn't giving the camera the evil eye. I had a pleasant look on my face. It's a fine look for everyone else, why wasn't it good enough for me?!

She tried to get me to smile bigger. I resisted. Then she made some stupid comment and my smile blew up like a hot dog in a microwave. SNAP! Picture nazi took my picture. I sighed with relief that the torture was over. Then picture nazi said, 'Now how about one with your eyes not so squinty?' They were as wide as I could get them without looking overtly crazed so I said, 'how about not?'

So needless to say I hate when people make the comment, 'Oh, that picture looks so much like you.'

Okay, so where was I? Ah yes... so Mr. Moron is hovering nearby, notices my security badge sitting haphazardly on my desk, and moves in for a closer look. And he says: "Hey, you do smile?"

Oh ha! You're fuuuuunny.

I wanted to say, "Of course I fucking smile you moron. I just don't smile when I'm dealing with your shit. When I'm wasting my time dealing with your problems I'm not in the mood to smile so quit trying to make lame ass jokes or I'll have to resort to punching you in the nose. Then I'll show you a fucking smile!"

But I didn't. Because I am Woman Of Restraint.

I said something flippant like, "I smile all the time." Then dismissed him and his stupid attempt at a joke and went back to work.

This would have bugged me only slightly had he been a much less irritating man!

Tuesday is Chooseday

Would you rather...

1. your ears be bleeding OR your eyes?

Ears. It's easier to walk around with a wad of something to stop the blood flow stuffed in your ears than in your eyes.

2. smell like vanilla cake frosting OR fresh-cut lime wedges?

Frosting. I'd rather smell like dessert than happy hour condiments.

3. get comments on your hair OR your smile?

Uh... hair. Because... uh...

4. have an addiction to coffee OR an addiction to bubble gum?

Gum. I can't fit a pack of coffee in my pocket for quick emergency fixes.

When Klutzilla Attacks!

I know how I'm going to die. How I'm going to kick the great big bucket o' life. It won't be in a plane as it crashes. It won't be from an overdose of flinstone vitamins. It won't be from a crazed stalker fan who kills me just so he can rifle through my underwear drawer.

No, it won't be because of any of those scenarios. You see, I have this feeling, this painful feeling in my side right were this fresh, ugly bruise is, that my klutziness is going to be my downfall. Literally.

I fell last night. Tripped over my own damn feet. Traitorous bastards!

Well, to be honest, it wasn't entirely their fault. I kind of wasn't paying attention to what I was doing.

And here I thought I was old enough not to need to be constantly thinking, 'right foot. Okay, now left foot. Good. Now right foot again...'

*sigh*

I was getting ready for bed. I unzipped the jeans I was wearing and pushed them down to the floor. Then, instead of stepping out of them like I normally do, like any normal person would do, my mind wanders off to think about something inconsequential and I, under the false assumption that I'd already stepped out of my jeans, because that's the normal progression of things, I start to walk over to the side of the bed. So there I am, trying to walk with my feet still tangled up in my jeans. Not something I would recommend folks.

Now, this might not have been the disaster it turned out to be, had my brain been functioning at 100%. Hell, even at 70%! But my brain was tired and sleepy and full of snot, hence the lack of even semi quick reflexes. Normally, I would have reached out my hands and braced myself against furniture to stop my fall. Or grabbed on to the HB. Or something! My brain would have yelled, 'Hey! We're falling! Better grab on to something so we don't hurt ourselves and look silly!' And it would have all happened within nanoseconds and I would have been laughed at the near miss.

But last night? Last night my sluggish, snot- hindered brain went, 'Heyyyyyyy. Look at that. I think we're fal- OUCH!'

It's like my brain had nothing better to do than take a back seat in the Klutzilla Rollercoaster of Pain and go 'wheeeeeee!' all the way down.

I crashed. I crashed hard. Then landed in the laundry basket, which, while softer than what I crashed into, was really awkward to be in, all sprawled out like and in pain.

I crashed into the little mini, two-tiered bookshelf that came with my crappy little computer desk I got from wal-mart. So it's not like I broke anything valuable.

Yes. I broke it. My big fat klutzy self broke furniture! Go me!

A big ol' chunk of the fake wood from the middle shelf broke off. The shelf no longer sits on the little plastic pegs. But there's so much shit crammed on the bottom shelf that you can't really tell.

Luckily no chunk of me broke off in the process. I walked away with some scrapes and bruises. (Take that crappy little furniture shelf thing! Don't mess with me or I'll fuck your shit up! Booya!) Oh yeah, add to that tally a slightly dinged pride.

*sigh*

The HB came into the bedroom and plopped face down on the bed. "Are you okay," he mumbled into his pillow.

"No." I tried not to sound pitiful. I'm not sure I pulled it off.

"Guess you shouldn't leave your dirty clothes everywhere," says the man who has more clothes on the floor than me.

"I didn't trip over my dirty clothes," I said, casually shoving the dirty clothes at my feet under the bed and out of the way. "I tripped over my own feet." Which really doesn't sound all that better, but oh well.

"Oh," the boyfriend says.

"Oh? I fall and hurt myself and all you can say is OH? Where's my sympathy? Where's my 'oh, poor baby!'"

"Oh. Poor. Baby."

He was already half asleep, dammit. I was going to beat him awake so he could fully appreciate my new found soreness but was too beat up to do anything more than stick my tongue out at him. Silly man! I changed into PJ's, checked for blood (There was none dammit. That would have gotten me some damn sympathy!), then limped to bed.

I have two tiny scrapes on my shoulder that I can feel right now because the bra strap keeps rubbing against them. I have a bigger scrape on my thigh, where actual pieces of skin came off! (And yet no blood, dammit!) And I have what I hope turns out to be a real nasty looking bruise on my side, towards the back, right above the butt area. I can feel the bruise right now. It's a dull ache, annoying, constantly reminding me what a klutz I am. As if I've forgotten. Gah! If I lean back in my chair it really hurts, so no leaning back for me today. Right now the bruise is red and blue, with a little bit of purple to it. Hopefully by tonight its got some yellow too so it looks ultimately pitiful. Then I can go up to the HB and say, "See! Ouuuuuuuch.'

Then I'll give him some sympathy for the HUGE knot that's still on his leg from the fall off of his motorcycle. You know, so he doesn't feel left out of the sympathy party.

You know, I don't think that fortune cookie fortune has ever rang truer.

Mondays blow!

I hate being sick. Being nothing but a booger factory. It's awful.

And awfully messy.

*sniffle*

I don't want to blow my nose here at work. I'm doing it because I don't have a choice, but I don't like it. I hate blowing my nose in front of people. Especially when I've got Gooey Monster Mega Boogers. I remember blowing my nose, as quietly as possible, in front of a friend once, in the seventh grade, at the table in the very back of English class. And my friend says, very loudly so that the kids in the back two rows hear and turn around to look, 'Ewwwww! Boogers!!!!'

Traumatizing!

Well, not really. Just a little embarrassing. And the guy was still my friend afterwards. I didn't beat him over the head with my text book. But I imagined it. Oh yes, I imagined it good.

Booger blowing is gross, and I really don't like doing it in front of people. I'll do it in front of family. And the HB. And I subjected my best friend to a couple days of non stop booger blowing noise this past weekend. But I'm just not comfortable sharing the gross noise with anyone else.

But not blowing my nose here at work is not an option. Because the snot is coming out, whether I force it out or not. Sound the alarm! I've got drippage!

I tried running to the bathroom earlier to blow my nose, but the bathroom walls are like gigantic amplifiers. My snot sounded ten times louder than normal! Eek! And I can't blow my nose here at my desk because there's no way to do it in a nice, quite, lady-like manner. I could run outside, but there are stairs involved, and stairs are evil and I know they're just looking for a chance to trip my up. Or down. Running down the stairs on my way outside, distracted by a drippy nose, is the opportunity I know they're waiting for. (I have a not-so-pleasant history with stairs. They don't like me. Never have, never will. Bastards!)

I have to think of something though because sitting here dabbing at my already-red nose is not working for me.

See, that's the problem right there. I have to think! Gah! I've got too much work to do today. I don't have time to think!

I'll have to do some covert nose blowing. Flush all the toilets in the bathroom then blow my nose. Yeah, that's a plan!

I may not want my brazilian waxed, but if the price is right I'm open to other countries.

I'm going to a bachlorette 'party' on Saturday. And by 'party' I don't mean 'wild drunken orgy'. Darn it. :)

The 'party' consists of two parts. For the first part, a couple of girls are getting together to be pampered at a day spa called Che Bella. How fancy schmancy does that sound?!

It sounds completely schmancy to my simple, plain little ears. I've never been to a spa. Never had any of those girly things done, like the manicure, the fake nails, the facials, the waxing in places I only show doctors and guys who buy me dinner.

Heh. Just kidding with that last part. I also require jewelry, a minimum of 10 hours spent sitting next to me in theaters while watching quality chick flicks, and a declaration of their undying love for me. :)

So anyways, I would totally love doing this whole day spa thing, getting all relaxed and cleansed and prettied up and shit, if I had the money to spend. Which I don't. Why my friend, the Bride To Be, picked this as a part of her bachlorette shindig, I have no idea. Maybe her other friends are rich. I know I'm not, and I know my best friend Zoink, the maid of honor, is not as well. Especially after shelling out money for a dress and shoes and etc.

So I think the two of us will be sitting together, getting a manicure (one of the cheapest things on the menu) while everyone else runs around getting a more thorough primping.

I'm tempted to get other stuff done, but if I really want fake nails I can get them for at least half the price here at home. Same goes with most of the other things. And I know, its not the same here, because I won't be with the girls and the BTB doing the whole bachlorette thing. But still, thirty bucks for a manicure? Sheesh almighty. And sixty bucks for the cheapest facial? Sheesh almighty squared! That's almost a hundred bucks right there. And that's about how much I have left to my name until payday. This spa day isn't going to make me feel pretty. It's going to make me feel poor.

Being broke sucks kitty litter!

But I might just say, 'Screw it! Throw some of that pineapple froo froo shit on my face and lets par-tay!'

I'll just have to see how the mood hits me on Saturday, living spontaneously. Woo!

The second part of the not-so-wild maybe-drunken absolute-orgy-free party is the dinner. Girls from the day spa are meeting up with a few more girls at some restaurant for dinner. And that's all I know about that.

One of the BTB's sisters is the other maid of honor. She's like the second runner up MOH since I think Z is the 'main' MOH. Anyway, at the bridal shower, the sister comes up to Z (or was it more like accosted Z? *tee hee*) and says that they need to do something 'special' for the BTB for her bachlorette party.

During the car ride home, Z tells her car companions (me, her mom, and another friend) about this 'special' thing that she needs to come up with. "What does she mean by special?" Z asks.

And I, being ever so helpful, suggested, "Special means we buy the BTB two lap dances instead of one."

Z shot me a disdainful (yet loving, I know) look over her shoulder and declared that she was not spending her money on anything remotely related to lap dances and half nekkid greased up men. I can't remember the exact words, but that was the gist. So bummer that! :)

This is going to be a fun weekend (even sans lap dances!) and I can't wait until it starts. I'm taking a vacation day tomorrow to drive up to Z's place. It's a minimum four hour drive, and I'm going to try and make it without stopping which means I'll arrive cramped and sore and crying for my momma. But it'll be worth it, because I'm meeting up with Z (who's house I'm bunking at) and we're going to hang out together and do non-spa girly things for the rest of the day. Yay!!!

And then on Saturday I'm going to hang out with a couple people I know, and even more people I don't know, exploring this strange new world, the Day Spa World. I'll know my best friend Z, the Bride To Be (who I never talk to anymore outside of girlfriend get-togethers) and the BTB's sister (who I don't really know and who I don't really care for after a certain 'i'm better than you let me rub it in your face' comment she made to Z a few days ago.) So yeah, if not fun, it will certainly be interesting.

At least I'll be hanging out with my BBBF Zoink. It's always good to have a gal pal around who you can make snarky comments with. :)

Oh Pigsey, it's like you don't even know me any more!

According to this piggy personality test I am...

A realist.

(I'd like to think I'm a realist with optimistic tendencies.)

I believe in tradition, am friendly, and remember dates (birthdays, etc.)

(HA! I'm so bad with dates. That was my least favorite part of history class. The rest of its more accurate.)

I am emotional and naive, care little for details and am a risk-taker.

(Emotional? Sometimes. Naive? Definitely. Haven't you noticed my posse of adorable cartoon woodland creatures? But 'care little for details' and 'risk-taker'? Ha! Hahahahahahahaha! *ahem* Eh, not so much.)

I am secure, stubborn, and stick to my ideals.

(As my mom always says, I was stubborn before I was even born.)

An OK listener.

(I'm not the best listener, but I'm OK with that. I didn't want to hear your whiney ass anyway.)

And my sex life is of 'medium quality'.

(Which means I'm getting a medium amount of 'tail'. Get it? Tail! Ha! Hahahahaha! Hahah- *ahem* Eh, not so funny.)

This is the pig I drew:



Isn't this the cutest damn piggy you've ever seen?

No?

Well, I didn't have an erase button, or I would have made it look spec-fucking-tacular. It least it doesn't look as freaky scary as some of the drawings in the piggy gallery.

[very amusing and useful procrastinating tool found via tj's blog]

Its got groove, its got meaning.

This morning, while my former office buddies Sal and Zack were upstairs hangin' round da cube, shootin' da office shit, Cute Perky Girl comes in to work and steps into her office, which is the office next to the one directly in front of me. And she says, in her cute little perky voice, "Lisa! What's the word?!"

And I think, Oh crap. Now I have to think of something snappy to say.

The pressure was on.

My first thought (after the 'oh crap' thought that is) was to say mockingbird. You know, as in 'what's the word, mockingbird?' Yeah. I know that's dumb. Luckily, my Higher Reasoning Skills realized this before I had the chance to vocalize it. They (the H.R.S. hit squad) hit the buzzer, the trap door opened, and that thought quickly fell to That Place Where Stupid Thoughts Go. Some thoughts just don't make the cut, ya know? They ain't got the skills and they gotta get dropped.

But don't worry. I recycle! Most of the reject thoughts find nice warm fuzzy homes eventually.

While it worked that time, my brain buzzer is often on the fritz. Which is something you might have picked up on if you've been reading this blog for awhile now. :)

So anyways...

First thought discarded, I racked my brain for another reply. And remembered the song I heard on the radio during yesterday's commute home. The song that I couldn't help singing along to at the top of my lungs.

"Grease!" I say, doing an incredibly dorky finger-as-a-gun pointing move that I swear I've never done before in my ENTIRE life. I've done some dorky way-to-go thumbs up moves before (handy, mildly embarrassing, and sometimes uncontrollable substitutes for when my brain farts) but never have I flashed the 'hey look my hand and fingers look like a gun bang bang I'm so snazzy' finger thing. Gack!

"Grease is the word!" I said. And felt so proud of my snappy answer.

I am woman genius. Here me roar intellectually.

CP Girl laughed and smiled and settled in at her desk. While that smile said, 'Ha! You're so funny!' the laugh told a different story. I recognized that laugh. I know that laugh. It was the laugh of a cute popular girl as she's thinking 'you are such a moron.' I can decipher Popular Girl code. You see, there's this certain frequency the laugh is at when they are over compensating for their burning jealousy of me and my coolness and my snappy dialoging abilities. I know this, and I try not to hold it against them.

Well, to be honest, I'm not quite sure if her laugh was that kind of laugh. It sounded close, but it might have been distorted from the static in my brain due to the H.R.S. hit squad yelling at the stupid buzzer for not working. You know, for the whole 'grease' plus finger pointing combo.

Heh.

Can I just say, for the record, that I love Veronica Mars. She's my snappy dialogue idol.

So anyways...

As we're all having a chuckle at my 'grease is the word' answer, Zack says to me, "Did you know French fries originated in Greece."

And I thought, Really? How interesting.

But out loud I said, in a very sweet adorable way, "Did you know that I don't care?" Well, he asked for it! He'd been making faces at me all morning!

Zack said something, then Sal said something, and I'm pretty sure at least a full minute passed before I got it.

French fries originated in Greece grease.

Oh ha ha ha Mr. Funny Pants.

My delayed laughter made him roll his eyes at me. At me? Pfshaw!

I would have called him on it, but my Higher Reasoning Skills were preoccupied with trying to fix the Stupid Thought Reject Buzzer Button. I'm sure I'll think of an appropriately snappy comeback... oh, say... three days from now.

T. I. C.

Would you rather...

1. have starr jones over for dinner OR mike Tyson?

I can't stand Starr Jones. I think she's annoying and way too full of herself. I'd still rather have her over for dinner though. I wouldn't feel safe with that crazy motherfucker Tyson around.

2. put cheez-whiz on everything you eat OR marshmallows?

Uh... this is a hard one. Each one has different things going for it (cheez-whiz comes in a can!), and many things working against it (cheez-whiz tastes like doody!), so... I think I'd have to go with marshmallows. Because they taste better and hopefully wouldn't ruin everything that I eat.

3. hitchhike everywhere you go OR walk?

Walk. It's an effed up world out there and I don't care to play russian roulette with strange drivers.

4. dress in lederhosen for a week OR nothing but a grass skirt and coconut bra?

Lederhosen. There's no way I'm wearing a coconut bra to work. It's too chilly in the office for that. I mean, I'm already at NipCon 3! I don't know how much more the girls can take.


Oh great. Now I have that stupid Coke commercial jingle stuck on repeat in my head.
You put the lime in the coke, you nut...

I like burgers 'cause they're so delicious! Got cheese-bur-gers!

In the previous post I mentioned that if I had to pick only one food item I could eat for the rest of my life I'd pick cheeseburgers. I think this is not only a rather yummy choice, but a rather wise choice as well.

With this meal you are assured a well balanced diet consisting of all the important food groups. You've got the diary group courtesy of the cheese, the meat group courtesy of the meat, the vegetable group courtesy of the lettuce, pickles, onions, etc, and the tomato representin' the fruit group. It's the perfect meal!

I came to this rather ingenious conclusion last time I was up north visiting the grandparents. My wonderful loveable sweet little grandma, who's become a chronic complainer in her old age, kept going on and on about how she's suddenly developed a sweet tooth. At night she keeps making her way to the fridge to have a bowl of ice cream. Then she has a couple of cookies. Then she eats something else sugary. 'I have to stop this!' she says. 'I'm getting fat!'

She's not getting fat in the least, but she still says this. All the time. In complete sincerity. I can't imagine what fat on her is expendable, other than the fat from the ample boob area, but you really can't pick which area the fat vacates first. I think she was fishing for a compliment so I said, for the umpteenth time, 'Diet? You need to be gaining weight grandma, not loosing it!' She ignored me and continued talking about ice cream, and how hard it would be to give it up.

"You know," she said, "if I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be ice cream. I love it."

Nothing but ice cream? For the rest of you life? Ick.

My mom was quick with her answer: nachos. Didn't even have to think about it. Nachos, nachos, nothing but nachos.

I envied her nacho convictions. Because I had no reserve favorite, no food of choice I could call upon in the face of danger. If I'd been about to die, and was granted one last meal, but had to have an answer within the next ten seconds, I would have died hungry. And that sucks. Because the longer you can delay your execution, and other bodily harm stuff, the greater your chance for rescue. I watch A-Team and Charlie's Angels reruns. I know how this life and death stuff works.

When the 'if you could only eat one' food question was mentioned, my first thought was French fries. Because I love fries. But French fries? And nothing else for the rest of my life? Ick!

That's when I thought of the cheeseburger, the French fries' bosom buddy. And I thought, of course! Cheeeeeeeseburgers!

I could eat cheeseburgers every day. And my mom says that's okay. (She doesn't really, but I have the gold fish cracker jingle in my head.)

Ten Favorite Foods

My Ten Favorite Foods
(in no particular order, although #1 is my ultimate favorite of all time foods)

1. French fries - my current favorites are from A&W. If I ever went on the atkin's diet I think French fries would be the hardest thing for me to give up.
   
   
2. Grandma's potato salad - no one makes it as good as my grandma does. And she's too old now to make it. :(
   
   
3. Cheeseburger with the works (which means extra mayo!) - if I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be this.
   
   
4. Rib eye steak that's big and juicy and full of flavor. yum!
   
   
5. Rib eye steak sandwich from Hoagies Heroes (little hometown sandwich shop) with the optional cheese and grilled onions. Mmm... grilled onions.
   
   
6. Onion rings - especially the ones from McLintock's. (omg I think I'm drooling)
   
   
7. Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream - the Haagen Daz version most particularly.
   
   
8. Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chip cookies... fresh from the oven... all gooey and melting in your mouth and... okay, I'm definitely drooling now.
   
   
9. Key lime pie - this has become my new favorite desert, as well as the HB's favorite. When we go out to eat, we'll pick the restaurant based on whether they have key lime pie or not. :)
   
   
10. Apple crisp - especially mom's homemade kind. She complains that its crap every time she makes it, but I think her apple crisp deserts are divine.

First Runner Up: potato chips (especially the kind my mom's addicted to from Trader Joe's) and sour cream and onion dip (especially the kind made from the Laura Scudder powder package). I can eat this as a whole mean and be as happy as a clam at a clam disco.

Second Runner Up: carne asada - especially the way the HB cooked it last Saturday. It tasted like pure heaven on my tongue. If it always tasted that way it would have made it in the top ten.

Oh ye mighty Office Gods / please hear my plea / find my boss a different desk / that's far away from me!

My boss just set up shop at the desk behind me. In this little four square cubicle island, I'm in the upper left square. He's now sitting behind me in the bottom left square. What the fuck? How am I supposed to get any work done now?!

I mean really! I think the Office Gods are conspiring against me today. Meddling bastards.

He's at the desk behind me, which means my back is to him. And I hate that. I hate not knowing what's going on behind me, who's sneaking up on me, who's standing over my shoulder watching everything that I do. In school, I never sat in the front of the class, where all the 'look at me I'm smart and want to learn' kids sat, even though I was sort of smart and really wanted to learn. I liked sitting in the back so I could observe everyone, see everything that happened. And so I could listen and learn and not be distracted with worry over whether or not my underwear was creeping up the back to say hello, as underwear are want to do.

Now, I'm not crazy paranoid about this or anything. Really I'm not. It's just a comfort issue. I am comfortable when there's no one sitting behind me doing who knows what.

Maybe I was a spy in a previous life, always looking over my shoulder for the bad guys. And maybe I was attacked and killed from behind. That's why I'm always weary of people doing stuff behind me. Heh.

It may not sound like it, but I can cope with people sitting behind me just fine. It just bugs me, that's all. And it seriously cramps my web surfing style. Like, totally.

And now The Boss is asking me questions! Gah!

Will somebody please get the man a real office!

chocolate pudding to the rescue!

I didn't have time to pack a real lunch this morning. I managed to grab some gold fish crackers, a pudding handi snack, and a prepackaged breakfast pastry and then I was heading out the door. Mmm Mmm yummy.

I ate the breakfast pastry first. You know, for breakfast. Then I had a cup of fishy crackers. (The cup is a styrofoam coffee cup that I snagged from the coffee pot table and drew little pictures around it to make it look like a fish bowl. *teehee*)

Normally this combination of snacks would be filling enough, but I didn't eat dinner last night, so I was extra hungry today. That meant a trip to Vending Machine Land. One of the vending machines has these really yummy sandwiches. I've tried the pastrami sandwich and really liked it. I've tried the ham and cheese sandwich and really liked it too. Thought about running down and grabbing another one I liked it so much. Today, the only sandwich available from the same brand name company was the chicken fried steak sandwich. And I thought, Chicken fried steak? I love chicken fried steak!

So I put in my money, grabbed my big hearty soon-to-be-microwaved chicken fried steak sandwich and marched back upstairs.

Sitting at my desk (yes, I took a working lunch today, Gah!), smelling the nuked chicken lunch, my stomach cried, Feed me!. And I obeyed.

And nearly spit the first bite all over my desk

Holy fuzz nugget that sandwich was disgusting!

I was tempted to throw it away, but I'd spent $1.75 of my hard earned money on the damn thing, so that wasn't a favorable option.

I ate it. And made really scrumpled up faces as I did. Bleagh!

I think I have an orange in the fridge somewhere. I'm going to have to eat it to burn the taste out of my mouth.

Good thing I had the foresight to save the chocolate pudding for dessert. Mr. Pudding, you are my hero!

Why isn't it time to go home yet? Why?! *whine*


Updated to add this newly discovered inspiring quote...

'Tis better to have fought and lost, than never to have fought at all.
quoteth Peschiera

and this newly discovered life lesson...

'Tis better to have eaten nasty sandwich, than never to have eaten at all.
quoteth Me :)

Only you can prevent computer brain suckage!

The following quiz is brought to you by the last remaining brain cell that hasn't mutinied on me yet* and the faceless gold fish crackers that are keeping me company. Until, that is, I chomp their little faces down to swallow-able pieces. Mmm... fishy crackers!

* I've been playing catch up due to Friday's disaster and I seriously think the computer is trying to suck my brain dry. Little punk ass beyotch!


See what amusement park ride you are.

I do like water. And naturey things... other than bugs. And wild human-eating beasts. And possessed logs that try and drown me.

That actually happened once. The possessed log thing. No joke. Because the only other explanation is that I'm an uncoordinated klutz and... well... what a crummy excuse that is. Klutz smlutz! It was the log dammit!

I was... a preteen I think. Let's say about ten years old. And the family and I were camping up in the mountains at Big Sur. Beautiful place with beautiful green trees (except for the one that tried to drown me).

Beautiful deers peeing just a few feet from your campsite...

That's one of my favorite camp memories. We were standing just outside our little camper when my dad spots a deer several feet up the hill. We oohed and ahhed quietly, marveling at the closeness of the animal. My dad grabbed his binoculars, packed especially for such an occasion, and gave a quick peek at the deer. "It's eating," he whispered as he handed me the binoculars. "Eating?" I gasped and quickly took a peek. The deer was munching on the leaves! Right in front of us! Looking through the binoculars, it was like we were standing mere inches away. It was spectacular. "My turn, my turn," my little brother whined until I handed him the binoculars. "Woah," he said. After a bit my mom said, "Okay, my turn." "Woah," my brother said and kept staring at the little deer. My mom waited patiently, letting her child enjoy the nature spectacle some more, then said, "Oh all right, hand them over." He did, reluctantly. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes, pointed them up towards the deer and, with amusing disbelief in her voice, said, "It's peeing! It didn't pee for you guys!" My brother and I laughed and laughed and laughed at that. We got to see it eat and mom got to see it pee! Ha! Okay, so maybe that's not as amusing as I remember it being.

Anywhoo... where was I? Oh yeah. Beautiful camp site. Beautiful animals. Beautiful park rangers... let me take another little story deviation and say that the park ranger was so dreamy. Rugged. Manly. Hunky. All of the above. And he gave me a ranger scout button. But I didn't need the button. He had me at hello. :) There were junior ranger programs kids could attend, and you earned buttons and stuff. The only thing I remember from those little nature lessons was the bit about recycling and about how important it was. And when Cute Park Ranger Guy said it was important to recycle in order to save the forest and the animals and the entire planet I listened. And became quite the little anti-litter bug. Heh. Sucker for a pretty face? Who me? Pfftt!

Okay, so on to what started this camping trip down memory lane. The evil log!

My dad loves to take long walks. He wanted to go on a little hike to go see something, some rock thingy or what not. I don't quite remember. My mom opted to stay at the campsite while me and my brother tagged along with dad. It was fun, and very much like going on a little mini adventure. We had to cross a small stream, and did so courtesy of the big tree trunk log-of-a makeshift bridge. I was kind of scared as I crossed it. I mean, it wasn't flat and expansive as a real bridge would have been. It practically screamed, 'Danger! Uncoordinated people beware!' But I didn't pay any attention, and walked crawled across it on my hands and knees. I thought this was an excellent plan, as more contact with the log obviously means less chance of falling over.

It worked and I crossed the log safely and followed my dad and brother as we hiked to who knows where. We climbed up and over huge rock formations, got to our final destination (which must not have been that interesting to look at since I can't remember what it was. A waterfall? A view of Something Miles Down Below Us?). We oohed and ahhed at the Whatever for a few minutes, then made our way back to camp.

When we got to the log bridge I was again apprehensive. The stream below wasn't a rapidly rushing river, so that wasn't the scary part. And I was pretty confident in my swimming skills, since I was on a swim team and all, so I wasn't afraid of the water. I was just afraid of, well... falling I guess. I can't quite remember what bothered me about it. But I do remember that I wasn't going to crawl across it like a little scaredy cat this time. I felt foolish, yet confidently safe as I crawled across it the first time. But my dad and brother made it look so easy, just walking across it like there was nothing to it. I wasn't so confident in my balancing skills, but my brother was younger than me, so if he could do I could do it. I was apprehensive, but I knew I could do it. So I did it.

And fell off when I was two thirds of the way across.

Fell right into the water and bawled like a baby. I was so embarrassed. I remember apologizing to my mom for getting wet. She laughed, not cruelly but in a sort of 'oh poor baby' sort of way and told me not to be silly. Easier said than done, mom. But thanks anyway.

*sigh*

Stupid evil log!

Ogres keep telling me that the lions, tigers, and bears write long love letters to architects.

Again, title courtesy of the Random Sentence Generator. I may just stop thinking up titles from now on.


You know what song cheers me up every time I hear it? Even when I'm already Mary Freaking Sunshine cheery?

MMMBop.

That's right. I'm not afraid to admit it.

I heart Hanson!

I've really been enjoying their latest batch songs on launchcast! But MMMBop, that's a classic, man. What a fucking brilliant song!

And no, I'm not being sarcastic.

In an mmm bop they're gone. In an mmm bop they're not therrrrrrrrrrre!

You know what other song always brings a smile to my face?

It's Not Unusual by Tom Jones.

That's right. I said Tom Jones bay-bee! This song just plain ol' makes my day whenever I hear it on the radio. It makes me want to do the 'Carlton dance' too, which I'm sure looks funny to my fellow freeway commuters.

Right now I've got both songs playing the repeat game on my windows media player thingamajiggy.

Now if only I had some quarters for the vending machine for a much wanted Famous Amos cookie munch this day would be totally rockin'. Well, sans the whole being-at-work-on-a-Sunday thing of course.

it's not unusual to be loved by anyone...

Only an idiot would deny that the poets discriminate against deep sea divers.

Today's title (since I couldn't think of one and its Sunday and I didn't want to strain the brain too much) is courtesy of the Random Sentence Generator. I think I'll have to be using their services, and other generating services, more often. This title is brilliant!

I'm at work today. On a Sunday! Can you believe it?

I can't, and I'm the one sitting here at my desk.

Crap nuggets!

For supplies I went and stopped by Carl's Jr. They gave me the wrong breakfast sandwiches (bitches!) but gave me a big ass cup of Dr. Pepper. So I'm all set to go in the caffeine department. Now I just have to find me some tunes to rock out to. Some tunes I can crank the shit out of. Because no one is here on the top floor with me. Wheeee!

Too bad I have to work. This could actually be a fun couple of hours. Meh.

Alright. Time to get to work.

Right after I check my emails. :)

Stick a fork in me and call me Shirley.

I think I am going to cry.

Or beat my head on the desk until I can't see straight. One or the other.

You know this project I've been working on? This cleanup project I've whined about over the last few days? Just had a major set back. And I mean punch-me-in-the-boobs MAJOR!

(I was going to say kick-me-in-the-balls major, but I don't have balls thank you very much, so I had to come up with something equivalent instead)

We found out on Monday that the report we were running to see how far along we were in our Filling in Blank Data Fields X and Y Project wasn't capturing all the records we needed. If a certain field was left blank, Field A, the report ignored the entire record. Sons of bitches!!! (I've been saying this phrase way too much today. And its not making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside like it normally does.)

So we didn't even know about the hundreds of records that still needed to be fixed. Not until Monday that is. You know, this whole thing has been a great big pain in my great big ass! *sigh* So Monday I got the bright idea to go record by record and fill in this all important field. That way we could rerun the report and see what was still needed to be filled out in fields X and Y of all pertinent records!

I was doing best guesses on some records, other times I was just typing in a big UNKNOWN. We could figure it out later, just so long as something was in that first field.

I started at the bottom of the list, at the Z's, and worked my way up. At the end of Monday I was all the way up to the S's. The whole thing was totally mind numbing but after I ran a count and saw that I'd done over 300 records I felt glorious. 300 records! Woo! Go me!

I've worked on this little record updating task all week. I was almost done with the L's when I took a little lunch break. When I came back to it I looked at the next record, had no idea what vendor supplied the item (this is a parts database I'm updating), and typed in the blank vendor field 'unknown'. And you know what the bastard computer said to me? 'Unknown is an invalid vendor entry'.

WTF?

Somehow the handy little 'unknown' vendor record I set up was deleted from the vendor table. And for some reason it deleted EVERY SINGLE FUCKING field that I filled in 'unknown' for. Every. Single. Fucking. One. Hundreds! All gone. Hours! All wasted.

So that means it all has to be done all over again.

ARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

It shouldn't have been able to happen. If someone tried to delete the vendor record a little error message should have popped up saying 'hey asshole, this record is being used in the inventory table. It can't be deleted.' But for some reason that didn't happen.

*sob*

I'm done for the day. I don't care if I have another two hours left. I'm done.

Stick a fork in me and call me Shirley.

"I was born a poor black transient lesbian..."

That title's not exactly true. It's also not even remotely true.

You see, it all started when I went out to lunch with office buddies 'Zack' and 'Sal' yesterday. Near the end of lunch the conversation turned to blogs. And about how I have one. Zack referred to it as 'the blog that no one visits because no one knows it exists.' Even though he's never seen nor read this here blog, he's not entirely too off the mark. :)

When he first found out I had a blog I mentioned something about how its readership numbers are very small. Microscopic even. When he asked for the site address I didn't give it to him and he said, 'Well no one's going to read it if you don't give out the address!' I know this, but I still felt kind of weird giving a coworker directions to this place, this little haven of semi-neurotic rants and semi-narcissistic ramblings.

So why didn't I give him the site addy? Well, I hadn't written anything too personal for a coworker to read, so that wasn't it. I hadn't talked bad about him personally - I don't think I'd even mentioned him before then - so that wasn't it either. And the only work related stuff I've complain about, in what I believe is a relatively cryptic manner, is small potato stuff anyway, so its not like I'm afraid everyone at work will find out about the blog and I'll end up fired, broke, destitute and distraught. (Though I would prefer it if most people here didn't read this crap. *hint hint zack if you ever read this*)

It's just that... I don't know. Some of the things here are dumb/weird/silly/etc, and while I'm sure he's picked up that sense about me, why supply him with the written evidence? Yes, at times I am dumb/weird/silly/etc. I've come to except this about myself. I actually like this about myself. But here at work? I try and play it off like I'm normal. Well, relatively normal. Maybe he's figured me out. Maybe they all have. But at least this way I can pretend like I have everyone fooled.

I pretend to be normal because I'm shy. Almost paralyzing-ly so when I meet people for the first time. It takes me a while to warm up to people before I feel comfortable enough to let my silly side shine. That right there is probably the main reason I didn't share the blog addy with him. That, and do I really want a coworker to know how much I blog during office hours? Probably not but...

But I'm in an extra shiny mood today so...

Well, on the walk back from lunch I mentioned that I'd blogged about the girl who I think might have been flirting with me. I also mentioned that I'd blogged about the email the New Boss had sent out saying 'keep it up Ken!'. Zack said he'd do a search for that, the 'keep it up' bit, to find my blog. I said, 'go ahead and try it. You'll never find my blog that way.' Then I suggested he try looking for both blog posts by searching for 'keep it up' and 'lesbian' in the same search string. Though I think he'll find a lot more interesting blogs with that search before he ever finds mine. :)

Then he said something about how I could find his blog with a rather interesting search.

Zack : 'I was born a poor black lesbian.'
Me : bwahahahaha!
Sal : No. A poor black transient lesbian.
Zack : Yes! I was born a poor black transient lesbian...
Me : oh I am so blogging this.

So if Zack really wants to visit my blog he knows now what to search for. :)

I wonder how many people will find this site with a search for 'I was born a P.B.T.L.' If you are such a person, dear First Time Reader, well... sorry to get your hopes up. I wasn't born poor. Or black. Or transient. Or a lesbian. And if you ever get around to reading this Zack... well... hi. Also, beware: you'd better rethink that whole 'spam' plan or I'll sic Dragon Lady on you.

Mmmm... cheesecake.

I just bought a 12 dollar cheesecake. Yikes! It's a granny apple streusel cheesecake, which is the ultimate in yumminess, but still... 12 freaking dollars?

Why spend so much, you may ask dear reader. So I say this: er...

Well, its for a school fundraiser. So good cause, no? It's not for any school I've been to, currently go to, or directly know anyone who goes to it, but its for the school's new marquee. And that's cool. Wish I had a new marquee at my school when I was a school attendee. And a coworker is helping out his daughter because he loves her and wants the best for her and how can you not want to support that and...

Okay, okay... I saw the picture and caved. How d'ya like dem apples? (Apples being, of course, my awesome will powering skills.)

I also didn't want to tell the coworker, 'sorry, no, I don't want to help you out.' Not because I thought the coworker would give me a bad time or anything. He's the guy who used to sit behind me up here in Cubicle Island World and he's too cool to inflict peer pressure. "All the other office people are doing it. Come on, you know you want to." It's just that... I am weak.

And I'm jealous.

My parents never took my school fundraiser stuff to work. My mom was between jobs, going back to school and stuff, during the years the school pimped us kids out on the candy market. Mom said my dad wouldn't, or couldn't, take my order form to work because he didn't want his employees to feel like they had to buy something from him, the boss man. I thought that was a crap excuse because who would feel obligated to buy cookies? Especially from my dad! He didn't have to become a cookie pusher or anything. No need to become King Cookie the mafia don, lording work positions over his lowly employee's heads. He would only have to say, 'hey, see this form? My daughter's selling crap for some school field trip. If you have no children of your own, and therefore have no school crap to buy yourselves, feel free to buy 800% marked up goodies. You know, only if you want to.' How hard would that be?

It wouldn't. So I guess that was just an excuse my mom cooked up to make me go out there and sell the crap myself.

Clever mom. Very clever.

Hi. This is Captain Right Brain speaking. I'll be your pilot for today.

Oh my goodness! Blogger's back up and running so that means I can post today!

Whoa whoa whoa dear internet friends. Don't everyone break dance in glee all at once now. That's how accidents happen.

I had so much to write about yesterday and blogger wouldn't let me share my stories with the world. Oh the tradedy!

[insert exaggerated eyeroll here]

I've got many goodies to add to the blog - well, not really many. And not necessary of a high enough caliber to qualify as goodies. So uh... hmmm.

I just went and updated my profile. Fun! Later I'll be adding a new little feed button down over there on the right. Later because I've got more important things to do today. Like write.

Lately, writing has become this sort of... obsession I guess you can say. I've always liked writing, but lately I feel the need to write. The muse gets her creative juices flowing and I can't help but be totally distracted by it. It's great, but I mainly feel this way at work. That's when the muse tends to be most hyper. I think this recent compulsion is just clever camouflage from the Right Brain. She just isn't getting stimulated enough by the office drone work. But hey, whatever works. :)

It's a tape dispenser! It's a magic marker! No, it's Office Girl!

I just got back from a potty break to find that some inconsiderate moron left their soda cup ON MY DESK! The nerve!

I was only gone for a couple of minutes but I guess it only takes a couple of seconds to litter. Ya know, I bet they were stalking me, waiting for me to tinkle just so they could leave shit on my desk. Premeditative bastards.

Okay, so it's not like its on my actual desk, which would be worse. It's on the little shelf that hangs over my desk. So it is in my desk space. I don't leave shit in their desk space, they shouldn't leave shit in mine. Says so right there in the Office Etiquette Easy Reference Handbook (page 12, subsection 3.2, paragraph 5).

The shelf height is right around the tummy area, somewhere above the hips and below the nips, depending on how tall you are. This must be a prime height for junk dumping because this is not the first time its happened.

If only I'd remembered to wear my Office Girl super suit under my clothes today. I could have ripped off my outer clothes and gone all office ninja on the Desk Offender's ass!




Picture courtesy of the Mucha Lucha Build Your Own Wrestler page.

This blogizzle postizzle is the off the snizzle for rizzle.

Could I be any whiter lamer dorkier?

Yes.

Yes I could. But that's not this post's point. Or is it...

I soooo do not want to be doing work today. This isn't anything new exactly; I rarely want to be doing this work. It's just that today my mind is having trouble staying on task. So of course that means today there's just too much work stuff to ignore (for too long).

Le sigh.

(Pssst... today is Pretend To Speak French Day in case you didn't get the memo.)

And still the mind keeps wandering off... it hides under the covers believing in the age old wisdom that if it can't see me, I can't see it. But ha! I'm on to it. It can't fool me! I... oh! Bright shiny object! Me looky!

...

...

er...

Where was I?

Oh. That's right. My desk. Can't believe that one almost slipped by me.

You know, I haven't overdosed on sugar or caffeine or insomnia-induced-adrenaline this morning. So I have no idea what the hell is up with me today?

I'm taking a (much needed apparently) sanity break right now, hence the writing and posting even with all the 'too much work stuff' mentioned above. I knew I needed to take a break when I started talking to myself. I do it occasionally with no qualms attached, but I try to avoid the self-talking when I'm near Office Higher Ups (and there's one sitting at the desk next to mine, for just this week... I hope.) So's I's gots to appear all professional an' shit, ya know?

(Psst... tomorrow is PTSFD. Today is actually Ghetto Office Talk Day. Pass it on. )

Probably shouldn't bother though, since he's already asked me to check out his ass. Not too professional, eh?

Well, to be honest, he didn't literally ask me to check out his ass. He noticed he had ink on his hands, then he stood up and noticed there's a HUGE ink stain on the seat of his chair. He starts to panic, naturally, and wonders if there's ink stains all over the back of his pants. So that's what he asked me as he turned his back to me, he asked if there was ink all over the back of his pants. There wasn't, because the ink stain is a couple weeks old. But still, since I've checked him out for stained pants maybe I can get a little leeway on a bit of incoherent mumblings to myself.

Would you rather...


1. be constantly sweating on the back of your knees OR always think you have bad breath?

I hate sweating. I especially hate sweating in awkward places. Like the back of the knees... the spot between the boobage that's only reachable after a quick Hand Down Front Of Blouse maneuver... the line for the bathroom at a club on Bring Back Disco night... etc etc etc. So I'd rather always think I had bad breath. Thinking it isn't as bad as having it. Or dealing with constantly sweaty knees. Plus, I'm experienced with self conscious paranoia so what's one more neurosis added to the list.

Now, I use the word 'experienced' like I use it on my resume where it says I'm experienced with software programs I've heard of but never used. Translation = not so much but hey it sounds good. So its more like I have a passing familiarity with self conscious paranoia. Yeah, that sounds better. Right? Makes me sounds better. And not as crazy. Right? Right?!?

2. come home and somebody painted all your walls bright red OR somebody replaced all your floors with astroturf?

Bright red walls! I wouldn't mind the red walls, but would mind the Astroturf terribly. I walk around barefoot all the time and would much rather walk on carpet than Astroturf.

3. win a new car OR win a two week, all expenses paid, vacation to anywhere in the world?

After the discussion last night with the HB about cars, about what color is better than another color, and after feeling the need to defended myself over the ownership of my granny smurf mobile (which is so not the a car I would pick out if I had any money) I'm tempted to say I'd rather win a new car. Because any car given away as a prize has got to be better than my car.

But I'm feeling too practical today. I have a car and it works fine. What I don't have is an all expenses paid vacation to anywhere in the world.

*sigh*

Now where can I win me one of those?

4. have a tapeworm OR lice?

Ew. I'd rather have which ever option is easiest to get rid of.