location, location, location

I may not be enjoying my job but it is in a great part of town. I swear, every single time I go walking around during my breaks or before work, something interesting happens. Today for instance, on my way to one of the three Starbucks' in a half mile radius, there was an old man waiting for the bus. He had a HUGE suitcase with him and he was talking to himself, crazy person talking. Then he starts applauding and screaming, "Bravo, bravo" to an empty street. So in the Starbucks I said something about it and apparently this guy rides the bus every single day and he talks to himself the whole time he's on the bus. I wonder what he has in his bag? Then on my lunch break, I walked to Rite Aid and there's this huge commotion. One of the clerks is throwing out this meth-head woman who I had seen throughout the day. He's screaming, "You fucking bitch, don't ever come back." And she screams, "Fuck you." Then as I'm walking up to the store, she's looking inside all crazy-eyed and pointing at the guy and saying, "You're gay, I'm telling everybody that comes in here that you're gay." THE DRAMA!

scratch and sniff

Jesus! I'm on the shuttle between work buildings and somebody really smells! Like a cross between a homeless person and a nursing home. Don't people realize when they smell that bad?

bad day

You know, nine hours is a lot of time when you're wearing uncomfortable undies, and it feels much longer. I literally had my panties in a bunch today, and ended up in a pissy mood because of it...you can only pick a wedgie so many times before it becomes lewd conduct in a public place. In fact, I was in such a foul state of mind today that I felt an impending rant chock full of terrible generalizations and filthy four lettered words. I was going to moan about work and social beauty standards and the predictability of people, even the ones who consider themselves on the fringes of society. But then I argued with the rideshare guy the entire drive home about date rape and gender roles and other feminist-lite subjects, so that took a lot of the steam out of my engine...lucky you. However, let it be known that I have decided that I definitely HATE my job. It is giving me the much needed motivation to get my shit together and study for my GRE so I can have a useless graduate degree to go with my useless undergrad degree. But next time around I'll have student loans to default on, so it'll be that much better.

bad day

You know, nine hours is a lot of time when you're wearing uncomfortable undies, and it feels much longer. I literally had my panties in a bunch today, and ended up in a pissy mood because of it...you can only pick a wedgie so many times before it becomes lewd conduct in a public place. In fact, I was in such a foul state of mind today that I felt an impending rant chock full of terrible generalizations and filthy four lettered words. I was going to moan about work and social beauty standards and the predictability of people, even the ones who consider themselves on the fringes of society. But then I argued with the rideshare guy the entire drive home about date rape and gender roles and other feminist-lite subjects, so that took a lot of the steam out of my engine...lucky you. However, let it be known that I have decided that I definitely HATE my job. It is giving me the much needed motivation to get my shit together and study for my GRE so I can have a useless graduate degree to go with my useless undergrad degree. But next time around I'll have student loans to default on, so it'll be that much better.

traveling man

So this guy I rideshare with...he's a talker. And like I've said before, no topic is sacred with this guy. We've talked about religion, homosexuality, politics, finances, relationships, sex, drugs, rock and roll. He's recited his poetry to me and he's offered (threatened?) to bring cd's of his music. But his big thing now is figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. He's on that whole "What Color is My Parachute?" journey, so I guess if he asks me just the right questions, in the space of a month, he'll manage to do what I haven't been able to do in thirty years (though I'm pretty sure that at least the first eleven don't count). But lately, he's decided that my problem is my attitude. According to the guy, I just need to accept my lot in life, realize that I've probably got it better than I ever will, and just deal. To which I said, "PHOOEY!" Well, not really...what I actually said rhymed a lot with "duck fat." I told him that advice was so bad, it was practically insulting. Accept your lot in life...who says that? Does anybody actually do this? Isn't the point of life that you don't only have to play the cards you're dealt (or whatever other nifty little colloquialism I can remember for those AA meetings)? Or am I just crazy and this is actually good advice?

soy un perdedor

I am such a social reject. I have absolutely zero skills in interpreting the actions of others. According to Cosmo and Glamour and even Star magazine, you are supposed to tell what people are telling you through their physical actions. But I can't, I am a socially inept disaster.

Scenario: a person or persons who you are briefly introduced to, who you find particularly attractive, finds you staring at them and raises their glass at you. Does this mean:

A. They noticed you are staring and by raising their glass, they are positively acknowledging the attention?

OR

B. They see you staring at them and the raised glass is a secret signal to the bouncers and bartenders that some psychotic loser girl with no chance in the fieriest of the fiery pits of hell is obsessively staring at you and to kick her out if she gets within ten feet of you?

OR

C. I am thinking way too hard about an innocent, friendly little gesture because I am a hard-up L-O-S-E-R who has hormones raging harder than a thirteen year old boy with a National Geographic magazine.

And just to reiterate the loser point, the title for this post...the Beck song? When it first came out I thought he was saying, "Sore from head to toe...I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?"

revenge of the nerds

I went out last night to see Jen play a great set at the Baltic Room. She was amazing. I got to meet a lot of her friends, of which she had many. The introduction usually went something like, "Hey, I want you to meet my friend from high school." And everybody thought it was awesome that we are still friends after so many years, which it is. But about two-thirds of the time, people would say, "God, I was such a geek/nerd/dork in high school." I can say emphatically and without hesitation, I was a big nerd and a dork in high school, for god's sake I was on the Math Team and I was (and am) a big girl with feminist ideas and a rock solid anti-touching policy. But I wonder, can all the people who are claiming high school nerdhood really have been nerds? First of all, there are way too many people claiming to be a part of the band geek brotherhood...the numbers just don't measure up. Are we confusing nerdorgeek with just not being popular, because those are two completely different things. Second, if they were nerds, puberty must have hit them in college or something. I mean they fought really hard to break out of the geek mold because most of these people were very good-looking and cool as hell (*cough*Robb*cough). Third, if all the people out in clubs are former nerds, where are all the old cool people? Don't they go out or are they still sitting at home reliving their high school glory days, maybe they're still having parties at each other's houses? Or are there actually elite cool kid clubs that you have to prove your secondary school popularity...a secret society of cheerleaders, jockeys, and preppie rich kids

?

So is it a good night when you've seen a stranger's boobs and it wasn't at a strip joint?

there's always room for j-e-l-l-o

Jello shots are devilish little concoctions. They're deceptively tasty and hell who isn't happy tonguing a glob of jello out of a plastic cup? But those little suckers really sneak up on you! I don't think that something so yummy and so associated with childlike glee should cause a hangover headache. It just doesn't seem right.

meme time

Go to Google images
Enter ALL of your initials and click Search.
Click the first picture that comes up, then click "See full-size image"
Post your initials with the picture (or the url to the picture) and explain how it relates to you.
Post these instructions on your website, blog, etc.



My result:



A hotel in St. Petersburg, Russia.
The acronym bears the same letters as my initials.
Oddly, the hotel's description fits me pretty well too:
"a dreary 1970s concrete block, but it does offer affordable, clean, and unpretentious accommodation."

six feet under

Does anybody watch this show? It was great the first season. I knew I would forever love this show when Brenda suggestively said, "No, not that kind of ride." Nevertheless, it did experience a wee bit of the sophomore slump and flagged a bit the second and third seasons, but even at its worst it was and is still better than 99% of the other shite on the tellie. But by the fourth season, they came back like a lion. The whole Lisa storyline, George losing his shit and gaining truck-fulls of somebody else's, Claire finally coming into her own through hilarious sexual misadventures...and I immediately forgave them the last two seasons when they had Justin Thereoux as a bondage loving band geek. Now, the final season and it's bittersweet. I think it might be better than the first season. The writing, the acting, the story arcs, I'm so involved in the characters, except for Maggie...that calm, tranquil, zen bitch should have stayed in Arizona. I cannot believe what just happened this last episode, my heart shattered into a million tiny crystalline pieces of pure devastation. I can't wait for the next episode, but then again I don't want to be watching the last few episodes because then it will be done, no future seasons. There will definitely be a hole in the already vacuous land of television that will never be filled when this show ends.

gag me with a spoon

Bulimics are very specific about the foods they consume when they binge and purge. Definite no on the tortilla chips, too many sharp edges that could reak havoc on the throat. They pass on the spicy food because spicy plus stomach acid does not a happy esophogus make. They don't indulge in bread either because it clumps too much, and vomiting up big wads of bread is probably similar to pushing a baby out of a vag. But bulimics love stuff like cake, soft cake and smooth icing...mmm mmm good both down and up the hatch. They love cereal (but not Corn Pops or Raisin Bran) because the milk is so much the better for upchucking. But the all-time fave of most bulimics is ice cream...it's just as good coming up as going down, soft and cool...a real pleasure for the regular purger. But bulimia just doesn't really work for everybody. Take vegans for instance, they can't have the milk or the cake or the ice cream, and lactose intolerants, well I'm sure you can just imagine. Plus, the foods for bulimics are just so darn unhealthy. So I think we should institute a healthier more organic bulimia. Judging by today's unfortunate turn of events, I've found that tofu is ideal for puking, whether self-induced or not. The consistency makes it easy to hurl, it doesn't leave too bad an aftertaste, and you don't get as much stomach acid as you would trying to break down a big hamburger or something. So now everybody can be on the bulimia bandwagon and not just celebrities and sorority girls.

adventures in babysitting

It's not that I don't like children...well okay, maybe I don't like children who aren't blood related. But mostly, it's the responsibility involved in caring for children that I don't particularly enjoy. I watched my brother's girls yesterday and it wasn't as much fun as just going to their house and visiting. There were many responsibilities and too much rule enforcement. I admit it, I'm totally selfish and frankly I just want to be the fun aunt. The one they can play Barbies with and who will join in when they have fart contests. I want to recklessly chase them around the house while they carry scissors. I want to make toast while sitting on the ledge of the tub as they take their nighty-night baths. I want to teach them dirty words and slip them a twenty so they can go out and buy make-up for their first clandestine meeting with the boyfriend their parents hate. I don't want to yell at them and create boundaries. I don't want to not buy things because of the choking hazards and mercury filling. And certainly, I don't want to be in any kind of situation where I have to take advice from Dr. Phil. What's fun about that? Kids should be more like dogs. You love your dogs, they love you...even when they're in their teen years. You can leave them in the car with the windows down when you need to run into the drug store for one of mommy's little helpers. You get to leave them at home when you want to go out and eat. They lick their own butts so bathing is optional. Seriously, it doesn't get more perfect than that.

skeletor

There's a girl at the Y, she can't be more than 25. She is disgustingly, revoltingly thin. Her bones stick out all over the place, you can see each little bump of her spine. Her face looks like somebody recently deceased who hasn't been pumped full of embalming fluid. And she's like some mad-woman on the exercise machines. Obviously she is determined to burn every calorie she has EVER consumed in her entire life each and every time she works out. I find her very frightening. If I had to choose between being her and being 400 pounds, I might opt for the 400 pounds. At least that way you can kill yourself by being a lazy, orally fixated hedonist. They should institute a law at the gym similar to the ones they have in bars. Once a person gets too drunk, you have to stop serving them...so once a person gets that sickeningly thin, you should force them out of the gym, drag them down to the vending machines, shove hohos down their throats and make them sit there until they digest.

hair-raising

Somebody needs to talk to the lady training me. How am I supposed to pay attention and concentrate on what she's explaining to me when she has the thickest mustache I have ever seen outside of Sturgis? Not just thick but long too. And she's got a little soul patch growing, which can almost distract me from some horrendously crooked lower teeth. Seriously, how can I think about the proper way to use the machine when her chin-mole hairs are trying to ensnare me? It's impossible!

self-induced amnesia

Man, you know you've had one crazy night when you wake up with bruises all over your body that you just can't explain. How do you get a bruise on your boob? I don't remember there being a mosh pit or any chest region man-handling. But then again I also don't remember most of the text messaging version of drunk dialing I did either, though I'm almost certain I mailed a picture of a toilet. And come-on lines...generally really lame, but every once in a while you get something so creative you almost feel compelled to reward the person just on principle...not that I'm THAT much of a prize, but as almost everybody knows self-esteem is directly proportional to the amount of liquor one consumes.

weekend update

Man, having to work REALLY makes you appreciate having a weekend off. Especially the whole sleeping in part of the deal. Waking up before The Today Show ends just has no appeal other than the fact that you can get a croissant breakfast thingie from Burger King. It's easier for me to stay awake all night than it is for me to force myself out of a warm and cozy slumber. Plus, you dream a lot more when you aren't forced awake by the insanely loud harping of an alarm clock, and I am the kind of person that remembers my dreams and then overanalyzes them. Although yesterday, despite having to be awake before the roosters, I had the BEST dream. I woke up with a smile and knew I was going to have a great day. And I did. There wasn't any traffic on the way to work. I didn't screw up training. Then I went to see my awesome friend Jen and we hung out and had a great dinner, I haven't had crab cakes that delicious since I lived in DC. We watched Strangers With Candy, I remembered that the show is funny, but I forgot how completely random it is, Amy Sedaris is my hero...those DVDs are on definitely on my to buy list. To wrap up the day, I drove home and they actually weren't doing any construction, I didn't get pulled over by any of the kabillion cops that were out last night and I made it home lickity split. So now Saturday is upon me and I haven't a clue what I should be out doing. Because when you work, you're supposed to make your weekends count right? It's been a while, I can't really remember.

weekend update

Man, having to work REALLY makes you appreciate having a weekend off. Especially the whole sleeping in part of the deal. Waking up before The Today Show ends just has no appeal other than the fact that you can get a croissant breakfast thingie from Burger King. It's easier for me to stay awake all night than it is for me to force myself out of a warm and cozy slumber. Plus, you dream a lot more when you aren't forced awake by the insanely loud harping of an alarm clock, and I am the kind of person that remembers my dreams and then overanalyzes them. Although yesterday, despite having to be awake before the roosters, I had the BEST dream. I woke up with a smile and knew I was going to have a great day. And I did. There wasn't any traffic on the way to work. I didn't screw up training. Then I went to see my awesome friend Jen and we hung out and had a great dinner, I haven't had crab cakes that delicious since I lived in DC. We watched Strangers With Candy, I remembered that the show is funny, but I forgot how completely random it is, Amy Sedaris is my hero...those DVDs are on definitely on my to buy list. To wrap up the day, I drove home and they actually weren't doing any construction, I didn't get pulled over by any of the kabillion cops that were out last night and I made it home lickity split. So now Saturday is upon me and I haven't a clue what I should be out doing. Because when you work, you're supposed to make your weekends count right? It's been a while, I can't really remember.

kids incorporated

For some inexplicable reason people willingly go on the journey known as parenthood. Why? I have no idea, I've heard there's a ticking clock of some kind. Just one day with my brother's spawn is enough to compel me to get my birth control prescription refilled, lest I be "blessed" with crying over toys (the crier being me only a third of the time), being told to "back off" by a five year old, and washing a poo-poo butt other than my own during bathtime. Sure, some parent might try to convince me that the hugs & kisses, "I love you"s, and gut-busting laughter because of the funny things kids say makes it all worth it. But I have enough reasons to shroud myself in self-loathing, screwing up an innocent bystander would just add a really uncomfortable fifty foot train.

special, so special

In every job, a worker always has a knack for something, at least one thing that a person is just a little bit better at than everybody else. Even I, lab dunce that I am, have that one skill. I haven't used it in a long time, not since I was government issued. But today, surprisingly, I found that I haven't lost my little gift. See in the lab, we often have to diagnose "artifacts" or "foreign bodies" in stuff like urine and genital swabs...and for some reason, I can spot a spermatozoa like nobody's business, particularly when it's in a gal's specimen. Within seconds of popping in a slide, if there is a single wiggly-guy to be found, I'll find it. I'm like the McGruff of post-coital remnants...nobody goes missing on my watch.