So, yesterday I was in a messed up mood, and for some reason or another I went back in time on this blog, and looked through a few of my very first posts. It got me to thinking.
Throughout my life, I've had a myriad of people (beloved and non) tell me that they'd "always be there" for me. Now, here I am, years (and even decades) after knowing them, and they're ... Not here. Now, don't get me wrong. This doesn't really bother me. Most of them were more trouble than they were worth, and caused me endless amounts of heart ache. There are those select few that I wonder about from time to time; where they are, what they're up to, if they're happy. But really, the rest I don't miss. What I do miss, is having people like that to talk to.
My circle of close (and I mean call in the middle of the night to talk kind of close) friends lately consists of my 2 boyfriends (who I can't really talk to about each other, or themselves, now can I?), my sister (who's going through issues of her own, and I don't want to bother her), a friend who lives half the country away, and, believe it or not, my ex husband.
Meh. I've gone off on a tangent. Anyway, it kind of makes me wonder about when people say "always." Do they really mean always? Because, I do. Everyone I've ever said I'd always feel a certain way about, I still do. I do. I still love every single person I've ever said I always would. And I have tried to "be there" for everyone I've always said I would always be there for. The only reason I'm not is because they removed themselves from my life. So...
Did they really mean "always," or did they mean "as long as I'm around for"?
Just something to ponder on...
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
poly...
okay... so i'm trying to blog... and not really knowing what to say.
and pardon the lack of capitalization and the occasional missing punctuation, i really couldnt be bothered at this point.
but yeah. so. life has been weird lately. here i am, basically house bound. i mean, i can go out, but i cant go out alone. and i cant go out for extended periods of time without suffering for it for days afterwards. apparently, the deal is that i have fibromyalgia, and i'm in excruciating pain 24/7. it had built up over time so much that while my brain was tuning it out (so i didnt even necessarily realize), my body wasn't, and was ceasing to function properly. i've got pain medications now, and they help, but not enough to make it so i can work yet. the only problem is that they dull my brain too, so it doesn't work as well at blocking out all the pain i used to. so while i'm in less pain over all, i feel it more. especially when the meds start to wear off. How exactly that's helping me, i'm not sure... Other than that i dont sleep as much now (i was sleeping 12-14 hours a day for a while).
right. so here i am, pretty much crippled, and suddenly i find myself with 2 boyfriends. who know about each other, and dont mind it at all. now... i'm alt lifestyle. i dont bring it up much here, cuz i dont want to make it the focus of my life. and i've got plenty of friends in poly relationships. but i never really thought i'd have a poly relationship, unless it was me, a guy, and a girl, or me and my bf and another couple. i never imagined myself having completely separate relationships with 2 men. But i am. And loving it. Its about the only thing that keeps my mind off the never ending aches and muscle spasms and sore joints. it wasn't planned, and it definitely wasn't something i was looking for right now, but there it is, and i've honestly never been happier.
and pardon the lack of capitalization and the occasional missing punctuation, i really couldnt be bothered at this point.
but yeah. so. life has been weird lately. here i am, basically house bound. i mean, i can go out, but i cant go out alone. and i cant go out for extended periods of time without suffering for it for days afterwards. apparently, the deal is that i have fibromyalgia, and i'm in excruciating pain 24/7. it had built up over time so much that while my brain was tuning it out (so i didnt even necessarily realize), my body wasn't, and was ceasing to function properly. i've got pain medications now, and they help, but not enough to make it so i can work yet. the only problem is that they dull my brain too, so it doesn't work as well at blocking out all the pain i used to. so while i'm in less pain over all, i feel it more. especially when the meds start to wear off. How exactly that's helping me, i'm not sure... Other than that i dont sleep as much now (i was sleeping 12-14 hours a day for a while).
right. so here i am, pretty much crippled, and suddenly i find myself with 2 boyfriends. who know about each other, and dont mind it at all. now... i'm alt lifestyle. i dont bring it up much here, cuz i dont want to make it the focus of my life. and i've got plenty of friends in poly relationships. but i never really thought i'd have a poly relationship, unless it was me, a guy, and a girl, or me and my bf and another couple. i never imagined myself having completely separate relationships with 2 men. But i am. And loving it. Its about the only thing that keeps my mind off the never ending aches and muscle spasms and sore joints. it wasn't planned, and it definitely wasn't something i was looking for right now, but there it is, and i've honestly never been happier.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Yes, I'm ok.
I know. I haven't been posting.
You guys have been great, checking up on me after disappearing for so long. I'd probably have forgotten about me by now, honestly.
To those wondering:
I'm going through some really heavy life shit. Too heavy for me to really feel comfortable posting about fully yet. It's rather been consuming what little life I had to begin with, so there's not been anything else to say... And the effort to think of something has been beyond me.
Suffice it to say, I'm not working. I've been diagnosed with a permanent incurable medical condition. No, not cancer. I'm all fine on that front. But it took them this long to actually come up with a diagnosis, and I haven't quite wrapped my mind around it yet. My concentration sucks. My typing sucks just as badly. And I haven't been my witty self in months. I'm sure I'll get back to posting regularly eventually. Maybe this post is the first step to that. I don't know. Its just... This blog was for "brain spillage." And right now, I'm afraid to purposefully put a crack into that dam -- if you get what i mean. Maybe you don't. I'm not making sense and I know it.
Anyway... I'm ok. I'm not going to die. Nothing fatal is going on.
Those of you who have my email can feel free to circulate it to anyone who wants to get ahold of me personally. I'm okay with that :)
Again, its really sweet of you guys to worry. I appreciate it :)
You guys have been great, checking up on me after disappearing for so long. I'd probably have forgotten about me by now, honestly.
To those wondering:
I'm going through some really heavy life shit. Too heavy for me to really feel comfortable posting about fully yet. It's rather been consuming what little life I had to begin with, so there's not been anything else to say... And the effort to think of something has been beyond me.
Suffice it to say, I'm not working. I've been diagnosed with a permanent incurable medical condition. No, not cancer. I'm all fine on that front. But it took them this long to actually come up with a diagnosis, and I haven't quite wrapped my mind around it yet. My concentration sucks. My typing sucks just as badly. And I haven't been my witty self in months. I'm sure I'll get back to posting regularly eventually. Maybe this post is the first step to that. I don't know. Its just... This blog was for "brain spillage." And right now, I'm afraid to purposefully put a crack into that dam -- if you get what i mean. Maybe you don't. I'm not making sense and I know it.
Anyway... I'm ok. I'm not going to die. Nothing fatal is going on.
Those of you who have my email can feel free to circulate it to anyone who wants to get ahold of me personally. I'm okay with that :)
Again, its really sweet of you guys to worry. I appreciate it :)
Monday, September 10, 2007
Quirk #13
I have a tendency to get caught in a nasty tornado of the "what if's."
This is something that, as much as I've tried, I don't completely have control over. I've tried to train myself not to do it. My psychiatrist has tried to medicate the habit out of me. So far, the only thing that works is complete and total avoidance of the world around me. This of course works, because if I'm not aware of the things I would worry about, I don't worry about them.
Unfortunately, the avoidance technique isn't a permanent solution. I mean, I can avoid things for only so long, and then there they are, back full force -- if not more so than before.
Writing it all down seems to help a little bit more than the avoidance technique, but if someone happens across my brain spillage (thats what I call it when I do that -- see last post for example), they get all sorts of worried, or take things out of context, or don't realize that its just me spewing out everything that happens to be in my head at the moment.
It's for that reason that I used to keep a journal, but no longer really do. The last time I kept a journal, it was read by someone, and the idiocies inside of it were used against me. Now I try to write in public, and only write the things I'm okay with other people knowing. That restriction makes it a lot less theraputic than it used to be.
But back to the what-ifs.
I start with something relatively straight forward, and then my mind goes into overdrive predicting all the things that can go wrong. This used to happen with everything in my life, not just the understandably scary things. Heck, it used to happen with things as basic as doing the laundry. What if all the machines are full? What if I run out of quarters? No, I have enough quarters. What if the machine breaks? What if someone decides to be bitchy and move my laundry before I go down to get it? What if management decides, for once, to enforce the curfew on the laundry room? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
I've gotten it under control enough now though, that the what-ifs only strike when a situation is much more serious. The whole abnormal cell thing, for example. What if it's pre-cancerous again? What if it's cancer this time? What if it was cancer before, but the doctors were incompetent? What if I have to have surgery again? What if I have to have a hysterectomy? What if it's a radical hysterectomy? What if I want kids later on? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
And the thing about it is, I can't get past it until I've worked out both my emotional and active responses to each and every what-if that comes to mind. Only then, after I've rehearsed all those things, can I sit myself down and actually take care of things. It can be crippling at times. It drives other people insane sometimes. Heck, it drives me insane. But there's just no getting around it. My brain kicks into emotional overdrive, and it won't shut off until I've appeased it appropriately.
Telling myself "I'll deal with that if it happens" doesn't work, because then my brain says "What if you put off thinking about it, and then when it does actually come up, you're caught completely unprepared, huh? Then what? Huh? Huh? Huh?!"
*sigh*
It's remarkably exhausting. And it seems to be all I'm doing lately -- if I'm not in avoidance mode, playing Wii or WoW.
This is something that, as much as I've tried, I don't completely have control over. I've tried to train myself not to do it. My psychiatrist has tried to medicate the habit out of me. So far, the only thing that works is complete and total avoidance of the world around me. This of course works, because if I'm not aware of the things I would worry about, I don't worry about them.
Unfortunately, the avoidance technique isn't a permanent solution. I mean, I can avoid things for only so long, and then there they are, back full force -- if not more so than before.
Writing it all down seems to help a little bit more than the avoidance technique, but if someone happens across my brain spillage (thats what I call it when I do that -- see last post for example), they get all sorts of worried, or take things out of context, or don't realize that its just me spewing out everything that happens to be in my head at the moment.
It's for that reason that I used to keep a journal, but no longer really do. The last time I kept a journal, it was read by someone, and the idiocies inside of it were used against me. Now I try to write in public, and only write the things I'm okay with other people knowing. That restriction makes it a lot less theraputic than it used to be.
But back to the what-ifs.
I start with something relatively straight forward, and then my mind goes into overdrive predicting all the things that can go wrong. This used to happen with everything in my life, not just the understandably scary things. Heck, it used to happen with things as basic as doing the laundry. What if all the machines are full? What if I run out of quarters? No, I have enough quarters. What if the machine breaks? What if someone decides to be bitchy and move my laundry before I go down to get it? What if management decides, for once, to enforce the curfew on the laundry room? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
I've gotten it under control enough now though, that the what-ifs only strike when a situation is much more serious. The whole abnormal cell thing, for example. What if it's pre-cancerous again? What if it's cancer this time? What if it was cancer before, but the doctors were incompetent? What if I have to have surgery again? What if I have to have a hysterectomy? What if it's a radical hysterectomy? What if I want kids later on? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
And the thing about it is, I can't get past it until I've worked out both my emotional and active responses to each and every what-if that comes to mind. Only then, after I've rehearsed all those things, can I sit myself down and actually take care of things. It can be crippling at times. It drives other people insane sometimes. Heck, it drives me insane. But there's just no getting around it. My brain kicks into emotional overdrive, and it won't shut off until I've appeased it appropriately.
Telling myself "I'll deal with that if it happens" doesn't work, because then my brain says "What if you put off thinking about it, and then when it does actually come up, you're caught completely unprepared, huh? Then what? Huh? Huh? Huh?!"
*sigh*
It's remarkably exhausting. And it seems to be all I'm doing lately -- if I'm not in avoidance mode, playing Wii or WoW.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
And Now For Something Completely.... Personal
I'm going to preface this post by saying:
A) This is probably more than anyone wants to know about me
B) This is incredibly personal and specific information
C) This post may contain discussion that is disturbing to some, so I won't feel bad if you decide to skip it.
And D) If I don't write it down, its going to drive me insane (it may anyway), and this is my primary writing outlet at the moment, so I'm putting it here.
Last year I was diagnosed with Cervical Dysplasia, CIN3. For those of you who don't understand the totally vague and seemingly arbitrary medical terms, that means that I had pre-cancerous cells growing on my cervix. The cause? That nasty little HPV thing that's being splattered all across the television and news lately. Apparently there's a vaccine for it now. Not that that does me any good, because I already have the damned thing, and the vaccine only keeps you from getting it if you don't already have it. If only they'd have come up with that vaccine sooner...
In any case, last year I went through the biopsy, and then went through a very icky surgical procedure to have those pre-cancerous cells removed. This particular surgery, called a conization, was just one of the options on the table for treatment. If the cells were too deep, my other option was a hysterectomy. Thankfully, the cells weren't too deep, and all that was needed was the conization. I went back after that surgery, and everything seemed fine, the surgery was successful, blah blah blah.
Fast forward to approximately 2 months ago, when I started feeling like shit for no apparent reason. I had a lowgrade fever that was making me not hungry, dizzy, and nauseated. I went to the doctor. They didn't know what was wrong, but ran some tests, and then sent me to a specialist thinking it might be a thyroid problem.
Still no answers there. Fine. Run some more tests. Get my annual Pap test done.
Fast forward to yesterday, when I get a phone call from the lovely woman physician's assistant (who seems more capable than any normal doctor I've ever been to see, by the way) that did my pelvic exam. The Pap test found abnormal cells. Again. She's referring me to an ob/gyn.
The last time I went through all this, it was hard. It was a complete surprise, and I wasn't prepared for any of it, didn't know anything about anything about it, had to do tonnes and tonnes of research on my own to try and understand what in the fuck was going on.
As hard as last time was, this time is even worse. Why? Because now I know exactly what I'm in for. I know that if the biopsy comes back with pre-cancerous results, then I'm probably in for a hysterectomy simply because the dysplasia has re-occurred, and that means I have the highest of high risk strains of HPV, and it will just keep re-occurring until it turns into full fledged cancer, or I die (whichever comes first).
I've been saying for a long time that I didn't want to have any more kids; that one rug rat was enough. I've been saying that. I haven't really been meaning it. I absolutely adored being pregnant with my son. I'd love to be able to have another baby, especially if it was a girl.
The only reason I've been convincing myself that I don't want any more kids is because I know that in order to have them, I'd have to be way more financially stable than I am now and that I'd have to go off of the medication I currently take daily to stay sane. I don't think its realistic for me to think about having another child, so I'd been trying to make myself think about getting my tubes tied instead.
But now I'm looking at that choice being made for me. And somehow that makes it worse. I wanted to be able to make the choice. It's my body. I should get to choose. As much as I hate periods, they're a reminder that I'm a woman, and I can make babies if I want to. To lose that... Will I be less of a woman? Or will I just feel that way? I know it seems like a stupid question to ask... But think about it this way. If I were a guy, instead, we'd be talking about cutting off my balls. Talk about immasculating right? Right. Point made.
I am scared. I am angry. I am sad. I am beyond sad actually. I'm full on depressed. And I feel most totally and completely alone.
And the BF has no comforting things to say to me. Him of all people... There were no reassurances that everything would be alright. There were no admonishions for me to not worry. Hell, even the asking me what was wrong when I got off the phone wasn't comforting. Instead of a caringly worried "what's going on?" I got a "what's up?" in an annoyed tone of voice that left me wanting to do nothing but punch him in the face instead of explain.
Of course, that's all typical of him. He's distant. He doesn't say "I love you." He doesn't get all sappy or emotional. And most of the time that's just fine with me. But in life threatening situations... The normal rules don't exactly apply, and I need more -- more that I shouldn't have to ask for. If I have to ask, it makes me feel like I'm only getting what I'm asking for because the person giving it feels obligated... Not because they actually want to give it. And that just makes me feel worse -- like I'm some sort of imposition, or burden to be dealt with only if it complains too loudly.
*sigh*
A) This is probably more than anyone wants to know about me
B) This is incredibly personal and specific information
C) This post may contain discussion that is disturbing to some, so I won't feel bad if you decide to skip it.
And D) If I don't write it down, its going to drive me insane (it may anyway), and this is my primary writing outlet at the moment, so I'm putting it here.
Last year I was diagnosed with Cervical Dysplasia, CIN3. For those of you who don't understand the totally vague and seemingly arbitrary medical terms, that means that I had pre-cancerous cells growing on my cervix. The cause? That nasty little HPV thing that's being splattered all across the television and news lately. Apparently there's a vaccine for it now. Not that that does me any good, because I already have the damned thing, and the vaccine only keeps you from getting it if you don't already have it. If only they'd have come up with that vaccine sooner...
In any case, last year I went through the biopsy, and then went through a very icky surgical procedure to have those pre-cancerous cells removed. This particular surgery, called a conization, was just one of the options on the table for treatment. If the cells were too deep, my other option was a hysterectomy. Thankfully, the cells weren't too deep, and all that was needed was the conization. I went back after that surgery, and everything seemed fine, the surgery was successful, blah blah blah.
Fast forward to approximately 2 months ago, when I started feeling like shit for no apparent reason. I had a lowgrade fever that was making me not hungry, dizzy, and nauseated. I went to the doctor. They didn't know what was wrong, but ran some tests, and then sent me to a specialist thinking it might be a thyroid problem.
Still no answers there. Fine. Run some more tests. Get my annual Pap test done.
Fast forward to yesterday, when I get a phone call from the lovely woman physician's assistant (who seems more capable than any normal doctor I've ever been to see, by the way) that did my pelvic exam. The Pap test found abnormal cells. Again. She's referring me to an ob/gyn.
The last time I went through all this, it was hard. It was a complete surprise, and I wasn't prepared for any of it, didn't know anything about anything about it, had to do tonnes and tonnes of research on my own to try and understand what in the fuck was going on.
As hard as last time was, this time is even worse. Why? Because now I know exactly what I'm in for. I know that if the biopsy comes back with pre-cancerous results, then I'm probably in for a hysterectomy simply because the dysplasia has re-occurred, and that means I have the highest of high risk strains of HPV, and it will just keep re-occurring until it turns into full fledged cancer, or I die (whichever comes first).
I've been saying for a long time that I didn't want to have any more kids; that one rug rat was enough. I've been saying that. I haven't really been meaning it. I absolutely adored being pregnant with my son. I'd love to be able to have another baby, especially if it was a girl.
The only reason I've been convincing myself that I don't want any more kids is because I know that in order to have them, I'd have to be way more financially stable than I am now and that I'd have to go off of the medication I currently take daily to stay sane. I don't think its realistic for me to think about having another child, so I'd been trying to make myself think about getting my tubes tied instead.
But now I'm looking at that choice being made for me. And somehow that makes it worse. I wanted to be able to make the choice. It's my body. I should get to choose. As much as I hate periods, they're a reminder that I'm a woman, and I can make babies if I want to. To lose that... Will I be less of a woman? Or will I just feel that way? I know it seems like a stupid question to ask... But think about it this way. If I were a guy, instead, we'd be talking about cutting off my balls. Talk about immasculating right? Right. Point made.
I am scared. I am angry. I am sad. I am beyond sad actually. I'm full on depressed. And I feel most totally and completely alone.
And the BF has no comforting things to say to me. Him of all people... There were no reassurances that everything would be alright. There were no admonishions for me to not worry. Hell, even the asking me what was wrong when I got off the phone wasn't comforting. Instead of a caringly worried "what's going on?" I got a "what's up?" in an annoyed tone of voice that left me wanting to do nothing but punch him in the face instead of explain.
Of course, that's all typical of him. He's distant. He doesn't say "I love you." He doesn't get all sappy or emotional. And most of the time that's just fine with me. But in life threatening situations... The normal rules don't exactly apply, and I need more -- more that I shouldn't have to ask for. If I have to ask, it makes me feel like I'm only getting what I'm asking for because the person giving it feels obligated... Not because they actually want to give it. And that just makes me feel worse -- like I'm some sort of imposition, or burden to be dealt with only if it complains too loudly.
*sigh*
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Are Wii Having Fun Yet?
It started out like any other Super Mario Brothers. I was short, I was red, I had a moustache. I was even 2D.
But then things got weird.
Not only was I rescuing the princes, but I was rescuing Bowser as well. There was a purple and black void in the sky, and I was being followed around by "Tippi" the butterfly, who kept blurting things out to get my attention. I'm magically transported to the world of "Flipside." The only way to reescue the princess (and Bowser) was to collect "8 Pure Hearts."
My enemy is named Bleck, he has a "minion" named O'Chunks, and another minion who "is always up for a good chunking." And another that keeps transforming into different gendered characters, while the other minions make fun of his/her cross dressing and sexual orientation.
The next thing I know, I'm picking up "Shroom Shakes" and "Pal Pills" and being taught a "transdimentional technique" by a guy who insists on judging me based on the size of my 'stache.
I start to wonder who's bad acid trip I wound up in by mistake, so I look at the game box again. It says "Super Paper Mario" on it. It says "rated E for everyone."
o.O
I think I know why they call it a Wii now. Because the developers were so hopped up on LSD all they could say when corporate asked what to name the thing was "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
But then things got weird.
Not only was I rescuing the princes, but I was rescuing Bowser as well. There was a purple and black void in the sky, and I was being followed around by "Tippi" the butterfly, who kept blurting things out to get my attention. I'm magically transported to the world of "Flipside." The only way to reescue the princess (and Bowser) was to collect "8 Pure Hearts."
My enemy is named Bleck, he has a "minion" named O'Chunks, and another minion who "is always up for a good chunking." And another that keeps transforming into different gendered characters, while the other minions make fun of his/her cross dressing and sexual orientation.
The next thing I know, I'm picking up "Shroom Shakes" and "Pal Pills" and being taught a "transdimentional technique" by a guy who insists on judging me based on the size of my 'stache.
I start to wonder who's bad acid trip I wound up in by mistake, so I look at the game box again. It says "Super Paper Mario" on it. It says "rated E for everyone."
o.O
I think I know why they call it a Wii now. Because the developers were so hopped up on LSD all they could say when corporate asked what to name the thing was "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
You Can Say "Ass" On TV...
But you can't say "asshole."
Apparently "hole" became profanity while I wasn't looking, because the censored part of "asshole" is not the "ass" part, but instead is the "hole" part.
I guess I'm going to have to start censoring the word "hole" out of any office communications I make...
In the mean time, it's nice to know that the FCC thinks it's perfectly acceptible for me to call someone an ass, as long as I don't get any more specific about exactly which part of an ass they are.
Apparently "hole" became profanity while I wasn't looking, because the censored part of "asshole" is not the "ass" part, but instead is the "hole" part.
I guess I'm going to have to start censoring the word "hole" out of any office communications I make...
In the mean time, it's nice to know that the FCC thinks it's perfectly acceptible for me to call someone an ass, as long as I don't get any more specific about exactly which part of an ass they are.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I Have No Words...
Okay.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Quirk #12
I am a total foodie.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
You Know You Play Too Much WoW...
When you not only understand, but find things like this hilarious.
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
Friday, August 17, 2007
Quirk #11
I hate door to door salesman types.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Horses Can't Throw Up
So today I learned an interesting little factoid... Apparently, horses are completely without the ability to upchuck. This is not something I envy, though I know plenty of people who would envy it.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I'm Alive. I think.
Okay, so again, not posting much. Sorry. Nothing funny has happened, and nothing else noteworthy has happened either. I can't even think of quirks about myself. Meh.
Anyway, for the sake of you all who don't have my email or my AIM to check on me -- I am indeed alive, and as well as can be expected.
The BF might disagree with me on the "well" part... My panicky breakdowns seem to leave him confused about whether or not I'm really "okay" (whatever "okay" means), and I've had more than my share lately.
I'll write something better when I think of something better...
Anyway, for the sake of you all who don't have my email or my AIM to check on me -- I am indeed alive, and as well as can be expected.
The BF might disagree with me on the "well" part... My panicky breakdowns seem to leave him confused about whether or not I'm really "okay" (whatever "okay" means), and I've had more than my share lately.
I'll write something better when I think of something better...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Quirk #10
I know I haven't been posting this week. I haven't thought of anything to write, and none of the quirks I've come up with are quirky enough to really qualify...
Work sucks.
I hate professors.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs, and have no concept of "budget"
I also hate professors who have no concept of the above things, and submit pre-proposals without consulting their accounting staff first.
Lets just say that hiring a postdoc on a 100k award is um... Not the brightest of ideas. Especially when said postdoc has a history of running up 2k of fabrication costs a month.
Would it be alright with everyone if I screamed now?
Oh yeah, and I especially hate professors who tell me to work up a budget with a certain amount of money, and then, after I've done what they ask, tell me to re-work said budget with only 1/3 of the original total, but keeping everything anyway.
I'm sorry people... Despite rumors to the contrary, I am wholly unable to pull money out of my ass.
And yes... The fact that I am incapable of pulling money out of my ass is my quirk this time.
=P
Work sucks.
I hate professors.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs, and have no concept of "budget"
I also hate professors who have no concept of the above things, and submit pre-proposals without consulting their accounting staff first.
Lets just say that hiring a postdoc on a 100k award is um... Not the brightest of ideas. Especially when said postdoc has a history of running up 2k of fabrication costs a month.
Would it be alright with everyone if I screamed now?
Oh yeah, and I especially hate professors who tell me to work up a budget with a certain amount of money, and then, after I've done what they ask, tell me to re-work said budget with only 1/3 of the original total, but keeping everything anyway.
I'm sorry people... Despite rumors to the contrary, I am wholly unable to pull money out of my ass.
And yes... The fact that I am incapable of pulling money out of my ass is my quirk this time.
=P
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Quirk #9
I'm addicted to books.
Seriously. I go through books like other people go through... well... air I suppose. Example: I bought a book at lunch last friday. I finished it well before going to bed the same day. And I'm talking about a 300 page book here, not one of those little bitty leaflet style ones.
When I was a kid, spring break was my high point because I would go to the library every day, check out a stack of books, and return them the next day, all read. In fact, you know those summer reading contests they would have? I'd have won them all -- if I'd remembered to turn in my reading logs... lol.
Now that I'm a grown up, I never go to the library. Instead, I'm building my own. I buy every book I read, and never get rid of it. My goal is that some day, when I'm rich (and hopefully, not famous), I'm going to have a mansion custom built. Half of it will be one HUGE two story room with shelves built into every bit of every wall, floor to ceiling, with those really cool ladders on runners going around the room.
I think I'm kind of old fashioned when it comes to books... Theres a woman in my office who caught me reading while I was walking to go get lunch (yes, I can read and walk at the same time), and she asked me why I don't listen to books on "tape" (she has hers on her iPod). I told her, honestly, that listening to someone read a book takes the joy out of it for me, and becomes boring after a while. The next day she brings in this little thing that looks like a PDA in a leather case... And says "I know you like books, so I wanted to show you this..." She turns it on, and its an eBook reader. I was horrified, but chocked back my distaste long enough to explain to her that I can't stand reading for long periods of time on a computer screen, and much prefer a regular book. She said she was the same way, but got tired of having to sell her books (OMG WHAT?). Again, I was shocked. I never sell ANY of my books! I keep them all, and read them again in a couple years (when I may have finally forgotten some of the plot). Besides, if I sold my books, I wouldn't have any left for my dream library!
In all truth, even if it weren't for the not liking to read a computer screen for hours at a time, and even if it weren't for the wanting to have a library of my own some day, I'd still buy regular books. There's something relaxing to me about the feel of a book in my hand. There's something relaxing about the smell of the fresh ink on the paper of a new book, and there's something really reassuring about the smell of old ink on old paper of a well worn used novel. The act of turning the pages is my own kind of meditation. It's as if by touching the book, I'm better able to absorb the story. Like the book is a portal to another world, and by holding it, I transport myself there. And that immersion, that complete escape from the reality of the world around me (I read mostly sci-fi/fantasy novels) is something that I don't think I could live without.
Right now, book-wise, I'm revisiting my adolescence by re-reading all my Piers Anthony novels (I have quite a few), and I was slightly disappointed to discover that I must have read some of the series' from books borrowed from the library, as I don't have the entire sets in my collection.
I guess a trip to Borders or Barnes & Nobels is in order... If they even still stock those books... Maybe Amazon.com? Eh. I'll find them somewhere.
Seriously. I go through books like other people go through... well... air I suppose. Example: I bought a book at lunch last friday. I finished it well before going to bed the same day. And I'm talking about a 300 page book here, not one of those little bitty leaflet style ones.
When I was a kid, spring break was my high point because I would go to the library every day, check out a stack of books, and return them the next day, all read. In fact, you know those summer reading contests they would have? I'd have won them all -- if I'd remembered to turn in my reading logs... lol.
Now that I'm a grown up, I never go to the library. Instead, I'm building my own. I buy every book I read, and never get rid of it. My goal is that some day, when I'm rich (and hopefully, not famous), I'm going to have a mansion custom built. Half of it will be one HUGE two story room with shelves built into every bit of every wall, floor to ceiling, with those really cool ladders on runners going around the room.
I think I'm kind of old fashioned when it comes to books... Theres a woman in my office who caught me reading while I was walking to go get lunch (yes, I can read and walk at the same time), and she asked me why I don't listen to books on "tape" (she has hers on her iPod). I told her, honestly, that listening to someone read a book takes the joy out of it for me, and becomes boring after a while. The next day she brings in this little thing that looks like a PDA in a leather case... And says "I know you like books, so I wanted to show you this..." She turns it on, and its an eBook reader. I was horrified, but chocked back my distaste long enough to explain to her that I can't stand reading for long periods of time on a computer screen, and much prefer a regular book. She said she was the same way, but got tired of having to sell her books (OMG WHAT?). Again, I was shocked. I never sell ANY of my books! I keep them all, and read them again in a couple years (when I may have finally forgotten some of the plot). Besides, if I sold my books, I wouldn't have any left for my dream library!
In all truth, even if it weren't for the not liking to read a computer screen for hours at a time, and even if it weren't for the wanting to have a library of my own some day, I'd still buy regular books. There's something relaxing to me about the feel of a book in my hand. There's something relaxing about the smell of the fresh ink on the paper of a new book, and there's something really reassuring about the smell of old ink on old paper of a well worn used novel. The act of turning the pages is my own kind of meditation. It's as if by touching the book, I'm better able to absorb the story. Like the book is a portal to another world, and by holding it, I transport myself there. And that immersion, that complete escape from the reality of the world around me (I read mostly sci-fi/fantasy novels) is something that I don't think I could live without.
Right now, book-wise, I'm revisiting my adolescence by re-reading all my Piers Anthony novels (I have quite a few), and I was slightly disappointed to discover that I must have read some of the series' from books borrowed from the library, as I don't have the entire sets in my collection.
I guess a trip to Borders or Barnes & Nobels is in order... If they even still stock those books... Maybe Amazon.com? Eh. I'll find them somewhere.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Quirk #8
I really hate coming off like I'm an idiot.
Okay, maybe this isn't a quirk. I don't think I know anyone who actually enjoys having people truly think they're an imbecille. I know people who don't care what other people think about their intelligence (either they're smart enough to know that other people are just stupid, so their opinons are useless, or they're too stupid to realize that seeming stupid doesn't help them in life), but none of them actually enjoy it. Me, well, I care if people realize I'm actually quite smart. I much prefer being thought of as intelligent, and go out of my way to make sure people realize I am. I don't care if people like me or not. They can think of, and call, me a bitch openly. It doesn't bother me. As long as they know I'm a smart bitch.
It's not something that I'm proud of. I show off, mentally, and its a really shallow thing to do. Which is funny, because I don't think of myself as a shallow person. Quite the opposite actually.
Anyway.
So I hate being put into situations that make me look stupid, especially when the reason I look stupid is because I am completely and totally uninformed about something that the person putting me in the situation already knew, and should have told me. And so far today, I have ended up in these types of situations 3 times.
My desk is the closest to the door to our cube farm, and as such, it falls upon me to direct anyone who happens to need directing. So someone comes in to ask if one of my co-workers is around. So I say "if her computer is on, she probably is. if it's not, she's probably not." Upon saying this, another woman in the office decides to pipe up that said co-worker is on vacation for the week. Why she couldn't have piped up when she heard the person ask... I don't know. Why there were no "on vacation" signs posted at this co-worker's desk, I don't know. But I ended up sounding stupid as a result.
So later, another person comes in asking for the same co-worker. Having found out that she's on vacation, I try to direct them to her supervisor. Whereupon the same person that piped up before says "oh, her supervisor is on vacation too." And I nearly slam my head into my desk right then and there. But no, I hold back, and ask politely who is covering while they're gone. The answer? She is. Why she couldn't have told me all that earlier, the first time I made an ass of myself, is beyond me. But whatever.
So after that, someone comes in asking for someone that does not sit in our office (or so I thought). I look at them, confused, and try to direct them downstairs. Whereupon I'm informed by that person that the someone they're looking for moved here. Okay, its a big office, but not THAT big -- I thought -- so I'd know if someone moved in... Right? Apparently not. Apparently this person moved into the far end of the office a WEEK ago, and no one bothered to tell me. And all this I find out from... Guess who. The exact same person who stepped in the first two times.
I really am not sure who to be upset at... My boss for not keeping me in the loop? The people who went on vacation without putting notes on their doors/desks? The people moving into my office without so much as a "hi how are ya? I'm staying for a while"?
GRRR.
Okay, maybe this isn't a quirk. I don't think I know anyone who actually enjoys having people truly think they're an imbecille. I know people who don't care what other people think about their intelligence (either they're smart enough to know that other people are just stupid, so their opinons are useless, or they're too stupid to realize that seeming stupid doesn't help them in life), but none of them actually enjoy it. Me, well, I care if people realize I'm actually quite smart. I much prefer being thought of as intelligent, and go out of my way to make sure people realize I am. I don't care if people like me or not. They can think of, and call, me a bitch openly. It doesn't bother me. As long as they know I'm a smart bitch.
It's not something that I'm proud of. I show off, mentally, and its a really shallow thing to do. Which is funny, because I don't think of myself as a shallow person. Quite the opposite actually.
Anyway.
So I hate being put into situations that make me look stupid, especially when the reason I look stupid is because I am completely and totally uninformed about something that the person putting me in the situation already knew, and should have told me. And so far today, I have ended up in these types of situations 3 times.
My desk is the closest to the door to our cube farm, and as such, it falls upon me to direct anyone who happens to need directing. So someone comes in to ask if one of my co-workers is around. So I say "if her computer is on, she probably is. if it's not, she's probably not." Upon saying this, another woman in the office decides to pipe up that said co-worker is on vacation for the week. Why she couldn't have piped up when she heard the person ask... I don't know. Why there were no "on vacation" signs posted at this co-worker's desk, I don't know. But I ended up sounding stupid as a result.
So later, another person comes in asking for the same co-worker. Having found out that she's on vacation, I try to direct them to her supervisor. Whereupon the same person that piped up before says "oh, her supervisor is on vacation too." And I nearly slam my head into my desk right then and there. But no, I hold back, and ask politely who is covering while they're gone. The answer? She is. Why she couldn't have told me all that earlier, the first time I made an ass of myself, is beyond me. But whatever.
So after that, someone comes in asking for someone that does not sit in our office (or so I thought). I look at them, confused, and try to direct them downstairs. Whereupon I'm informed by that person that the someone they're looking for moved here. Okay, its a big office, but not THAT big -- I thought -- so I'd know if someone moved in... Right? Apparently not. Apparently this person moved into the far end of the office a WEEK ago, and no one bothered to tell me. And all this I find out from... Guess who. The exact same person who stepped in the first two times.
I really am not sure who to be upset at... My boss for not keeping me in the loop? The people who went on vacation without putting notes on their doors/desks? The people moving into my office without so much as a "hi how are ya? I'm staying for a while"?
GRRR.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Quirk #7
Squirrels scare me.
Not in the run away screaming sense, but in the cross the street to get away from them sense, or the stand stock still until they go away sense, or the slowly back away from them sense.
You see, I grew up around what I have come to believe are genetically engineered super squirrels that know no fear of humans, or anything else for that matter. The college campus that I work at is infested with the suckers, and truly, they are not afraid of anyone or anything. Half of them are rabid. The other half will bite you out of spite. They all will steal food right out of your hands, climbing up your leg to do so. It's so bad that ecologists have been called in numerous times to try and come up with a solution for them.
Short of putting a bounty on their heads, no one has been able to devise a plan to get rid of them.
This is because these rabid, non-people fearing, food stealing buggers are not your normal squirrel. I've come to the conclusion that what happened is that way back in the beginning of the university, when genetic engineering was still just a matter of breeding two different species together, someone in life sciences decided to use squirrels as test subjects. These squirrels then mutated, thanks to the vast number of chemicals and radioactive substances they were subjected to, to have the brain power of 10 students all combined. Because they were suddenly smart, and self-aware, they became aware of the torture that was being inflicted upon them. Resenting their human creators (creators of their intelligence anyway) for said toruture, they escaped from their laboratory prison. In the process of this escape, I'm quite sure that at least one lowly graduate student researcher lost his life -- perhaps more -- but the university covered it up, fearing a scandal.
These squirrels, now free, pledged themselves to the destruction of human kind. Not by blowing anything up, or creating bio-warfare devices, mind you. They plotted the destruction of humans simply by scaring them away from places of higher education, and dooming the human race to an existance of substandard education. And we all know ignorance kills, so the plan was a pretty good one.
Now, these squirrels terrorize anyone on campus who dares come within sight of them, patiently winning their war one undergrad at a time. They celebrate when they succeed in frightening off a college administrator, and throw a huge gala event when they manage to chase a professor off campus.
You don't believe me? Ask the BF. He knows. He's seen them. In fact, he thinks they should be made super elite bosses in some MMORPG, they are that fierce.
Is it any wonder squirrels freak me out a little bit now?
Not in the run away screaming sense, but in the cross the street to get away from them sense, or the stand stock still until they go away sense, or the slowly back away from them sense.
You see, I grew up around what I have come to believe are genetically engineered super squirrels that know no fear of humans, or anything else for that matter. The college campus that I work at is infested with the suckers, and truly, they are not afraid of anyone or anything. Half of them are rabid. The other half will bite you out of spite. They all will steal food right out of your hands, climbing up your leg to do so. It's so bad that ecologists have been called in numerous times to try and come up with a solution for them.
Short of putting a bounty on their heads, no one has been able to devise a plan to get rid of them.
This is because these rabid, non-people fearing, food stealing buggers are not your normal squirrel. I've come to the conclusion that what happened is that way back in the beginning of the university, when genetic engineering was still just a matter of breeding two different species together, someone in life sciences decided to use squirrels as test subjects. These squirrels then mutated, thanks to the vast number of chemicals and radioactive substances they were subjected to, to have the brain power of 10 students all combined. Because they were suddenly smart, and self-aware, they became aware of the torture that was being inflicted upon them. Resenting their human creators (creators of their intelligence anyway) for said toruture, they escaped from their laboratory prison. In the process of this escape, I'm quite sure that at least one lowly graduate student researcher lost his life -- perhaps more -- but the university covered it up, fearing a scandal.
These squirrels, now free, pledged themselves to the destruction of human kind. Not by blowing anything up, or creating bio-warfare devices, mind you. They plotted the destruction of humans simply by scaring them away from places of higher education, and dooming the human race to an existance of substandard education. And we all know ignorance kills, so the plan was a pretty good one.
Now, these squirrels terrorize anyone on campus who dares come within sight of them, patiently winning their war one undergrad at a time. They celebrate when they succeed in frightening off a college administrator, and throw a huge gala event when they manage to chase a professor off campus.
You don't believe me? Ask the BF. He knows. He's seen them. In fact, he thinks they should be made super elite bosses in some MMORPG, they are that fierce.
Is it any wonder squirrels freak me out a little bit now?
Things That Make You Go "Ummm"
So I get on the elevator at the second floor, and press the 5th floor button.
After I do this, the only other person in the elevator (who has obviously pressed the 4th floor button) says to me:
"Uh, it's going UP"
I look at her and say:
"Yeah, I know. See how I pressed the 5 button?"
Silence ensues.
*shakes head*
After I do this, the only other person in the elevator (who has obviously pressed the 4th floor button) says to me:
"Uh, it's going UP"
I look at her and say:
"Yeah, I know. See how I pressed the 5 button?"
Silence ensues.
*shakes head*
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Quirk #6
I am addicted to writing implements and the paper they are used upon.
In this modern day of putting everything in a digital file stored on a central server, or a flash drive on your keychain, I still do a large amount of work on paper. In fact, most of the time, I have great difficulty working on anything except paper. To the degree that I tend to duplicate work, simply because I am compelled to work it out on paper first, then enter it into its digital format.
Along these lines, I am a menace to my bank account when entering an office supply store. My most recent decadence was a couple of engineer's computation pads... Which I absolutely adore, in part because I grew up stealing them from my dad but mostly because when it comes to working on paper, there is no better paper to do it on. It's tint lends itself to being easily read, and the faint grid pattern leads to the neatest of writing and figure drawing. The fun part? When you photo copy it, there is no grid, no tint -- just what you wrote on it, and a perfect set of margins. Oh yeah, and no bleeding through either. It's the smoothest, silkiest, leak and smudge free paper I've ever used... For work anyway.
When it comes to personal writing purposes, Claire Fontaine notebooks are piled up on my shelves, on my kitchen table, and anywhere else I can think to leave them. They're expensive. I won't deny that. But if you are a writer of any type (as in, physically writing), it is worth the expense. I have friends that I've turned on to this rather small line of stationary/notebooks, and they have never turned back. Again, smooth silky paper, no smudges, no leaks, and its quite heavier weight than most paper, so does not tear or crumple easily.
Hmmm... This is starting to sound like a stationary ad... I'll switch to pens.
I think I'm the only person on the face of the earth that has pen-gasms. I walk down the pen aisle of any store (any store that has more than bic ball points that is), and I get all hot and bothered. I actually coo over pens. As such, I am incredibly picky about what kind of pens I use.
I can't stand anything other than the finest, most elegant point. Which of course means that I absolutely refuse to use a normal ball point pen. Ball point pens should all be burned at the stake, and a ban put on ever producing them again, imo... But I don't care much for a pure felt tip either, as the tend to warp over time. Instead, there are two types of pen that I will happily use, my favorite being a fountain pen. Unfortunately, the last one of these I had was rather calously snapped in half by an overzealous toddler who had managed his way into the depths of my purse while I wasn't paying the closest of attention... Which nearly resulted in his very quick demise. But I held myself back. It was only a pen after all... *chokes on her words* ONLY a pen... ACK. *cries* I still miss that pen. It was beautiful. But I can't quite afford the hundred or so dollars it would cost to replace it. [If anyone would care to replace it for me *ahem* hint hint *ahem* I will gladly pick out a suitable model at your request]
The other type is much more readily obtained from a normal store -- rollerball pens. Ultra fine point. In as many colors other than black as possible. I personally have never cared much for black ink. It seems so blah. And when you photo copy it, you can't tell it from the original. Blue, again, is a bit boring, but only because it is so overused. I much prefer colors like purple and green. Occasionally even red.
When I used a fountain pen, I used to mix my own colors of ink... Not entirely reccomended mind you, but you'd be surprised the tints one can come up with simply by "forgetting" to clean the nib between color switches.
Anyway, yeah, I'm addicted. I don't deny it. It's one of the few creature comforts I indulge myself in lately -- pens and paper -- and remarkably, they can be practical =)
In this modern day of putting everything in a digital file stored on a central server, or a flash drive on your keychain, I still do a large amount of work on paper. In fact, most of the time, I have great difficulty working on anything except paper. To the degree that I tend to duplicate work, simply because I am compelled to work it out on paper first, then enter it into its digital format.
Along these lines, I am a menace to my bank account when entering an office supply store. My most recent decadence was a couple of engineer's computation pads... Which I absolutely adore, in part because I grew up stealing them from my dad but mostly because when it comes to working on paper, there is no better paper to do it on. It's tint lends itself to being easily read, and the faint grid pattern leads to the neatest of writing and figure drawing. The fun part? When you photo copy it, there is no grid, no tint -- just what you wrote on it, and a perfect set of margins. Oh yeah, and no bleeding through either. It's the smoothest, silkiest, leak and smudge free paper I've ever used... For work anyway.
When it comes to personal writing purposes, Claire Fontaine notebooks are piled up on my shelves, on my kitchen table, and anywhere else I can think to leave them. They're expensive. I won't deny that. But if you are a writer of any type (as in, physically writing), it is worth the expense. I have friends that I've turned on to this rather small line of stationary/notebooks, and they have never turned back. Again, smooth silky paper, no smudges, no leaks, and its quite heavier weight than most paper, so does not tear or crumple easily.
Hmmm... This is starting to sound like a stationary ad... I'll switch to pens.
I think I'm the only person on the face of the earth that has pen-gasms. I walk down the pen aisle of any store (any store that has more than bic ball points that is), and I get all hot and bothered. I actually coo over pens. As such, I am incredibly picky about what kind of pens I use.
I can't stand anything other than the finest, most elegant point. Which of course means that I absolutely refuse to use a normal ball point pen. Ball point pens should all be burned at the stake, and a ban put on ever producing them again, imo... But I don't care much for a pure felt tip either, as the tend to warp over time. Instead, there are two types of pen that I will happily use, my favorite being a fountain pen. Unfortunately, the last one of these I had was rather calously snapped in half by an overzealous toddler who had managed his way into the depths of my purse while I wasn't paying the closest of attention... Which nearly resulted in his very quick demise. But I held myself back. It was only a pen after all... *chokes on her words* ONLY a pen... ACK. *cries* I still miss that pen. It was beautiful. But I can't quite afford the hundred or so dollars it would cost to replace it. [If anyone would care to replace it for me *ahem* hint hint *ahem* I will gladly pick out a suitable model at your request]
The other type is much more readily obtained from a normal store -- rollerball pens. Ultra fine point. In as many colors other than black as possible. I personally have never cared much for black ink. It seems so blah. And when you photo copy it, you can't tell it from the original. Blue, again, is a bit boring, but only because it is so overused. I much prefer colors like purple and green. Occasionally even red.
When I used a fountain pen, I used to mix my own colors of ink... Not entirely reccomended mind you, but you'd be surprised the tints one can come up with simply by "forgetting" to clean the nib between color switches.
Anyway, yeah, I'm addicted. I don't deny it. It's one of the few creature comforts I indulge myself in lately -- pens and paper -- and remarkably, they can be practical =)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Quirk #5
Bugs. The bane of my existance.
I am deathly afraid of several types of bug.
There's the obvious fears of bees, wasps, hornets, or any other flying bug that stings. If I see one of these fierce predators, I generally either a) freak out and run away or b) go catatonic and say "uhhhhh uhhhhh uhhhhh" while staring at the flying offender. This leads to me not having picnics, or eating outside in general, because wasps tend to really love all the food I generally eat.
The basis of this fear (because I wasn't always afraid of these things -- bumble bees used to intrigue me) is that when I was just about 5, and we were driving from NY to California in the dead of August through some god awfully hot state that I can't remember the name of, though it did look much like Nevada... I was shirtless in the car, and a hornet got into the car without my parents noticing, and it promptly stung me squarely on the belly button. Yes, screaming ensued. Yes, my parents were baffled. Yes, I have never been able to look at a stinging flying creature without freaking out since.
Then there's the not so obvious ones.
Ants. I am afraid of ants. To the degree that if I find them in my house in any quantity, I hyperventillate and must go around spraying every last one with windex until they are all completely and totally dead. And then I can't sleep for a day or two, because of the nightmares. Actually, thats the mild response. As in, the response to only having a very very small trail of the buggers show up somewhere. There was an instance in which I woke up one morning, walked into the kitchen to start breakfast, and found a foot wide seething swath of ants that went from my patio door, up the wall, across the ceiling in the living room, along the wall into the kitchen, and down behind the stove. I panicked (I can never remember how to spell that stupid word, I'm guessing its right, but I'm not entirely certain). I couldn't think straight. I couldn't find my way to the windex. I did however manage to find my phone, which I then used to call my ex, and when he answered all I could say was "Ants... Ants everywhere. Help." and cry. Thankfully, that was enough communication for him to grab some raid on the way to my apt, and mercilessly murder the little bastards while I huddled in the corner of my couch watching to make sure he got every last one, and when he missed one, I'd yell "There! There! Kill it!" and point until it was gone...
And then there was the one time in college when I found ants in my bathroom (no where else) one morning, and had to call in sick to work, and not go to class, just so that I could kill every last single one, go get ant bait so they wouldn't come back, then clean my entire apartment because the thought of even one ant on the edge of the toilet was too much for me to bear... Especially when I had to pee... Frantic checking of all edges of the toilet took place for at least 5 minutes before using the thing (including the lifting of seats, and tank covers) every time I needed to, for an entire week.
Typing this, it all seems quite hilarious... And come to think of it, everyone that's ever witnessed my ant exposure based breakdowns has always laughed at me throughout the entire episode...
Then there's the little bitty flying buzzing bugs, that don't actually hurt you that much... But have an awful tendency to fly in your ears and eyes and nose and mouth when you're least expecting it. Mosquitos in particular. Its not so much the bugs themselves that scare me in that instance... Its the "OMG there's a bug in my ear!" thing that bothers me. I think I've grown up hearing way too many stories of people waking up with cockroaches stuck in their ears... Not to mention that there's something that just really freaks me out about the idea of a bug getting inside me somehow. Maybe I have Aliens to thank for that fear... Who knows.
Strangely enough, I am not afraid of spiders. Sure, sometimes they might startle me, but I am not afraid of them in the least. Actually, I quite appreciate them, as they make a habit of eating all the bugs that freak me out.
I am deathly afraid of several types of bug.
There's the obvious fears of bees, wasps, hornets, or any other flying bug that stings. If I see one of these fierce predators, I generally either a) freak out and run away or b) go catatonic and say "uhhhhh uhhhhh uhhhhh" while staring at the flying offender. This leads to me not having picnics, or eating outside in general, because wasps tend to really love all the food I generally eat.
The basis of this fear (because I wasn't always afraid of these things -- bumble bees used to intrigue me) is that when I was just about 5, and we were driving from NY to California in the dead of August through some god awfully hot state that I can't remember the name of, though it did look much like Nevada... I was shirtless in the car, and a hornet got into the car without my parents noticing, and it promptly stung me squarely on the belly button. Yes, screaming ensued. Yes, my parents were baffled. Yes, I have never been able to look at a stinging flying creature without freaking out since.
Then there's the not so obvious ones.
Ants. I am afraid of ants. To the degree that if I find them in my house in any quantity, I hyperventillate and must go around spraying every last one with windex until they are all completely and totally dead. And then I can't sleep for a day or two, because of the nightmares. Actually, thats the mild response. As in, the response to only having a very very small trail of the buggers show up somewhere. There was an instance in which I woke up one morning, walked into the kitchen to start breakfast, and found a foot wide seething swath of ants that went from my patio door, up the wall, across the ceiling in the living room, along the wall into the kitchen, and down behind the stove. I panicked (I can never remember how to spell that stupid word, I'm guessing its right, but I'm not entirely certain). I couldn't think straight. I couldn't find my way to the windex. I did however manage to find my phone, which I then used to call my ex, and when he answered all I could say was "Ants... Ants everywhere. Help." and cry. Thankfully, that was enough communication for him to grab some raid on the way to my apt, and mercilessly murder the little bastards while I huddled in the corner of my couch watching to make sure he got every last one, and when he missed one, I'd yell "There! There! Kill it!" and point until it was gone...
And then there was the one time in college when I found ants in my bathroom (no where else) one morning, and had to call in sick to work, and not go to class, just so that I could kill every last single one, go get ant bait so they wouldn't come back, then clean my entire apartment because the thought of even one ant on the edge of the toilet was too much for me to bear... Especially when I had to pee... Frantic checking of all edges of the toilet took place for at least 5 minutes before using the thing (including the lifting of seats, and tank covers) every time I needed to, for an entire week.
Typing this, it all seems quite hilarious... And come to think of it, everyone that's ever witnessed my ant exposure based breakdowns has always laughed at me throughout the entire episode...
Then there's the little bitty flying buzzing bugs, that don't actually hurt you that much... But have an awful tendency to fly in your ears and eyes and nose and mouth when you're least expecting it. Mosquitos in particular. Its not so much the bugs themselves that scare me in that instance... Its the "OMG there's a bug in my ear!" thing that bothers me. I think I've grown up hearing way too many stories of people waking up with cockroaches stuck in their ears... Not to mention that there's something that just really freaks me out about the idea of a bug getting inside me somehow. Maybe I have Aliens to thank for that fear... Who knows.
Strangely enough, I am not afraid of spiders. Sure, sometimes they might startle me, but I am not afraid of them in the least. Actually, I quite appreciate them, as they make a habit of eating all the bugs that freak me out.
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