Professional pretty, my ass

Well, I was all not going to post, and leave work like now, but the stupid Verizon guy is here and I can't leave until he does. And he's here fixing my SUPERVISOR's phone, and he left an hour ago. Totally not fair. Makes more money and gets to make the rules (when Pres isn't here). So here I am.

Isn't it strange how something someone said years ago can still either make you feel good or make you feel like crap? Like this guy in high school. He told me and my friend that we were "professionally pretty." At the time, I was all like, "I know." Now, though, it kind of pisses me off. Who the hell says something like that? First of all, I know that it is really hard for me to look slutty. It's a bit of an annoyance, but has its merits, too. Primarily that people always think they know me and that I'm a good girl and it means I can get away with lots of crap. And it's funnier when I say dirty things because it shocks people more. Though the sheer number of people who claim to have corrupted me is getting ridiculous. We all know I was slightly corrupted and then Whitney finished the job. Second of all, he's a teenage boy. A sock with boobs would turn him on and he's judging me? Yeah, right. He couldn't get with me if he wanted. So it hurt my feelings at the time, now I could care less except that I wish I'd slapped him at the time. Oh well. He did get told he was too fat to be on his college soccer team. That's vidication enough. It shouldn't make me laugh... but it does.

Ooohhh.. the Verizon guy is gone. Which means that I am outta here.

Cravings

This article highly entertained me. Why is it that guys, no matter how often we try and explain ourselves, can't get us? Like number 6: No matter how much your woman loves you, there are going to be three to seven days each month when she wants you dead. No matter HOW often I tell Spyboy that it's not really him and if he doesn't want to deal with it, just. go. away. he still insists that I am obviously mad at him and then tries to make me be in a better mood. Which annoys me, because he usually tries to cheer me up by being stupidly funny and it's just not funny. Okay, OCCASIONALLY it is. But most of the time, and definitely when I want to kill him, not so funny. And then I am simultaneously annoyed with him for being annoying and guilty for being annoyed with him when he's trying to make things better. But if I tell him he should just go away for his own sake, he gets all offended.

Also, Jordan Baker just posted about making a cake. Now I REALLY want cake. Hmm... Also, I found the recipe online for Cappuccino Blasts! I may gain 18,039 zillion pounds if I can make them at home. Right now, it's mainly the expense and the embarrassment of my addiction that prevents me from eating them all the time. I'm going to go buy a better blender this weekend. Whee!

Me? High Maintenance? Nah...

Sometimes I feel sorry for Spyboy. Dating me is not the easiest thing in the world to do. I do admit, though, that I am sometimes irrational. Last night was one of those times. Poor guy. He's been workign really hard this week, getting off close to 6. And, since I am basically refusing to leave my apartment after I get home because I want to stay with Cassy, it is up to him to come up with dinner. Or at least, pick it up. I know it's not fair, but I can't exactly stop at the grocery store on my way home from work. He drives, I don't. He gets the freedom of having a car and the lack of annoying people actually in your personal space, but he also gets the responsibility of picking up food. Anyways, so last night, he gets over to my apartment about 8, groceries in hand for french toast. He cooks (Hey, he likes to cook! So that's not me making him...) and gives me my french toast. which was nearly raw. I was honestly a little worried about getting salmonella. I mean, the bread wasn't heated all the way through. But he had tried to be sweet and buttered and put syrup on it for me (even though I'd have rather done it myself), so you couldn't really put it back in the pan to cook it more. So I ate it. And then, since I was already cranky and hungry and looking forward to good french toast, I kind of ambushed him with it. I kept my mouth closed until he asked me how it was. I wasn't hugely nice. Not completely awful, not like "It was crap!" But still. Not nice. Then I snipped at him for trying to get Cassy to attack his feet and fingers. But I read that that's a bad idea because it teaches your cats bad habits and I don't want her biting or clawing MY hands and feet. Then he won't stop fidgeting. He got a lot of snark last night. Of course, I never denied it when my mom told me that he has to put up with a lot. And I'll try and make up for it by being sweet. Probably not tonight, but maybe this weekend.

Though I'm not as mean as some people are on the metro. I swear I saw two people nearly get in a fight the other day. One woman was all like "Never treat me like that again," and the guy was all "then get out of the way!" In the guy's defense, this woman was standing squarely in front of one gate in, resting her bag on the reader for another gate while she looked for her pass. So she was REALLY in the way. And it was rushhour. I don't know WHAT he said, though, because she was really pissed off. Kept yelling at him until the train got there. It was kind of exciting, in a "I don't really want to deal with this right now" sort of way.

I just got off the phone with our press consultant about our newsletter. And man. My mind is about to implode or collapse or something. I have the feeling that she is all like, "Crap, this girl doesn't know what she's doing." Which is true. I've never taken an extremely basic, undefined newsletter and turned it into something of more worth. And no one here really knows what they are doing, either. Besides the press consultant. I talked to my supervisor about it. The conversation went something like this:
Me: We should really have more of a format for the newsletter, especially if boss-lady wants to have outside writers, which she does. That is going to take a lot more (any) organization.
Him: How so?
Me: Well, we might want some kind of timeline, first of all, so we can give them deadlines.
Him: Write one, then.
And now, I have four pages of notes on post-its (the big ones, with the lines) and my head hurts slightly. Sigh. And my supervisor actually referenced Vanilla Ice in reference to my coffee. I'm beginning to think he's hopeless.

On to happier thoughts, the pet people on livejournal are much nicer than the general livejournal population. I asked them for vet recommendations and the responses just poured in. I think I might actually go with the vets at PetSmart. I'm tempted by the Alexandria Veterinary Hospital which has gotten rave reviews, but they are more expensive. And with PetSmart, which got pretty good reviews, you can buy a whole care package on a monthly payment plan. And it's ridiculously close to my apartment, which is really good, since Cassy does not seem to enjoy car rides. I did realize why the names Cassy and Callie have been floating in my head lately. I've been reading Middlesex and the main character is named Cal/Callie. Which is quite close to Cassy, so... Cassy did cry this morning when I left. It was very sad. I closed the door behind me and was waiting for the elevator and I heard these little meows. She is such a goof, though. Frantically dashing all around my apartment before collapsing for a few minutes and then starting again. And she begs for food. I have to feed her right before we eat, because otherwise, she climbs all over and yowls. I think she just rests up during the day so she can go nuts when I get home. Sigh. I wish I were home right now.

I did get thanked by a woman for helping set up a meeting. That was nice. People usually gloss over me, since they don't really interact wiht me beyond the scheduling. So I appreciated the attention.

KITTY

This is my kitty. I love my kitty. She is strange and wonderful and a little whiney, actually, in that she enjoys meowing. A lot. In a high pitch tone. For no good reason. She also enjoys frantically running around my studio, so you'll be sitting there, watching tv and see something gray and white dart across the room and dive under the bed. Then she peeks out to see if it's safe and then darts behind the chair or into the closet. It's highly entertaining. She has a little bit of a hurt leg (no, she didn't get hurt with me! It was her previous caretakers.) Apparently, she pulled a muscle when she got her claw stuck in something and couldn't get it out. Which I can understand. Those claws are freakishly prickly and I am going to cut them as soon as I get some cat-nail clippers. She also completely passes out when she's sleeping, enough so that Spyboy and I can transfer her from lap to lap with her hardly noticing. I have named her (I think. I'm still not 100% settled on it.) Cassie, short for Cassiopeia. Sorry, Michelle. Spyboy wanted to name her after an actual person, too, but I couldn't think of anyone I'd want to name my kitten after. He was all, "Be like Lorelai and Paul Anka and you have to use teh full name." When I asked him for suggestions of a person, he kept coming out with people like Jessica Simpson or Britney Spears. I am NOT naming an animal after people like them. Plus, with Cassy, if I get another cat in the future, I can name her Andromeda and call her Andy. Sigh. I wish I were at home with my kitty right now. Though she is probably tearing up the apartment. When I left, she was doing that weird little hoppy thing that cats do when they are curious about something, but afraid of it at the same time. She also tried to climb my fridge. The sadest thing, though, is that she keeps looking for her siblings to play with. She sees reflections of herself in the tv, then goes behind the tv to find the cat back there. And she runs around mewling. It breaks my heart. I know she'll get over it soon, but still. I just want her to be happy...

Kitten Countdown

Okay, the kitten countdown begins. We are prepped and ready.

One thing. Any ideas for names?

Spying on myself

Ha. I'd been wondering who in McLean read my blog (maybe real spies or something), but I just realized that our provider must be in McLean. I, therefore, am my own spy. Sigh. Well, I guess I can be relieved, since I don't REALLY want the government watching what I write.

Though, speaking of government, Bush's speech to the NAACP seemed like canned crap. Full of warm fuzzies and no real substance. Anyways.

Today has not gotten off to a great start. Not a bad start. But not a great one. First of all, my shoes. I bought three pairs of comfortable shoes, for the sole (!) purpose of looking professional while not dying. I've worn two of the three pairs this week. And I have blisters. But, see, I don't really blame the shoes. I blame my skin. I have had ridiculously sensitive skin. The other day I was holding bottles while shopping at CVS. Held the bottles for a few minutes, and a few minutes only. I had little red dents on my arms for HOURS. The shoes? don't even hurt. I don't even feel them rub until the blisters pop out. It's just annoying. Then, some jerk on the metro shoved her way on. It wasn't even crowded. Everyone was going to be able to get on the train. And she just pushed her way past everyone, squeezing by some poor old woman to steal her seat. It was mean. Then this tourist starts chatting with a commuter. I have no respect for this commuter. None at all. And here is why. First, she keeps telling this guy that he should go to the Newseum. Which might be great. IF IT WERE OPEN. And, even if it were open, he wouldn't be able to find it since she said it was still in Arlington. Now that was not so bad. Uninformed, yes, old news, yes, but not that bad. The thing that made me lose the most respect for her? The tourist asks her where she works. She replies, "The IMF." Seeing his blank look, she tries to say what IMF stands for. AND CANNOT. She gets as far as "international" and then ends with, "I dunno, something to do with money." I mean, honestly. I would be mildly suprised if someone around here didn't know what the IMF was, just due to the protests and politics here. But for someone working there to not know what the anagram is for? And it's not like it's hard... IMF=International Monetary Fund. I kind of wanted to smack her. Then she was all like, "I just got married, so I'm not thinking too well." Yeah, did all the sex destroy your brain?! Because we might want to have scientists look into that. I mean, if too much sex kills brain cells, the religious right might have a point they could use. I could understand if she was distracted during an intellectual discussion by thoughts of her new marriedness. But give me a break.

Would you like a mint to get rid of the taste of foot?

I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. I blame the heat. I always blame the heat. I hate hot weather.

Anyways, I've decided that Site Meter is a bad, bad thing. I've become obsessed with it. Not really obsessed so much as... no, it really is obsessed. I must know how many hits I get! Then I try and think of ways to get more. I mean, most of my friends already know about this blog. I'm not telling my family, which means I can't put it in my email signature. I don't really get on instant messenger anymore, so I can't put it there... the funny thing is while I care about the numbers, I don't really care. Not enough to do more than I want to.

It always surprises me that, even though Spyboy and I have been together for nearly four years, he can still stick his foot so far in his mouth, he gags. He did that last night. One of the main things I've had to get over during our relationship is his history. He was a bit slutty before he met me. Not horribly slutty, but compared to me. I mean, he got to be nearly my first everything. And him? Oh, he was definitely used goods. Combine the inequalities with my own insecurities, and you've got a storm brewing. It all blew up our first summer together and created a lot of the problems we are still working out. I got depressed and starting comparing myself to them, or what I thought they were like. I didn't help that I knew one was a quasi-anorectic who liked to participate in wet tee-shirt contests. But I've been good lately! And by lately, I mean the past couple of years. Every once in a while, I have a short resurgence, but it goes away. So last night, I was trying to be sweet. Because, while he was slutty, Spyboy was not very well-trained in some ways. So I like to offer encouragement, which I was doing, and all of a sudden, he comes out with, "Yeah, well, it's not like I hadn't had anyone to learn with before." Which I know doesn't sound that bad. It's not so much what he said, but that he said it. I'm not mad or anything, more flabbergasted at his own lack of thinking. Almost as soon as he said it, too, he felt bad. You could kind of watch him realizing that he had gone into forbidden territory. Which means something. It'd mean more if I didn't have to listen to him put himself down for the rest of the week because of it. Why can he not translate guilt into presents? Like flowers.

Demon Duck of Doom

MSN amused me greatly today. I read MSN mainly for the weird news. Then I get to turn to my coworkers, or, since one is only a wall away, I just yell and say, "Hey, did you know..." They don't read MSN, so the answer is usually "no" and I feel smart. Since my coworker a wall away is out of the country (stupid girl gets to go to Italy for two weeks...), I shall snicker online.

First of all is this. I mean, the title of the article is "When killer kangaroos roamed the earth," and it has the phrase "demon duck of doom" in the first paragraph. This proves my theory that at least some scientists have a weird and quirky sense of humor. You know they all say it "demon duck of dooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm." Because how else could you say that? I mean really? So now I get the funny mental picture of a stuffy-looking man in tweed reporting to a class, going through his slides. "And here, students, is the skeleton of a killer kangaroo, also known in the science community as the "demon duck of doooooooooooooooooooooooommmmm..." THey should make movie or a comic strip or something off of this.

Second was this proposal, highly pertinent after the Daily Dump's discussion of proposals recently. And highly entertaining. I mean, the guy had his girlfriend kidnapped by fake aliens before he proposed to her. And her family was there, hiding, stalking her throughout the museum. How is any part of this not hilarious? And the guy's main reasoning is that the girl calls him "her alien man." Does this mean that Spyboy will propose by darting me, having people kidnap me to some unknown location, and then torturing me until I say yes? I hope not... I'm not that kinky...

Anyways, we are now counting down to kitten ownership. I have to admit, I'm kind of tempted to take both available kittens. I don't want my kitten to get lonely by itself. But then again. I live in a studio. Two kittens could go insane and completely destroy everything in my apartment in like five minutes. We'll see. I'm only going to prepare for one, but if I go to get that one and completely fall in love with both... well, let's just say I'm not ruling it out.

Interesting day of comments

I may or may not have just pimped myself out for a sugar daddy on The Daily Dump. I also have been called weak for complaining about the heat. I still say I'm going to complain about the heat. If I'm hot and sweaty and the air is toxic (which it is right now), I have the right to whine about it. It's more the air that bothers me right now than anything else. And yes, I did do some work today. I am currently waiting for Adobe to load a document I had to find online. It's taking forever, so here I am.

Sidenote: Why would you take work into the bathroom with you? I was just in there and a girl was rustling papers and THEN she took a work call. Hello? That's what offices are for... I pity the people who have to work with those papers. Ew.

Anyways, the main news is that I might be getting a kitten. Spyboy's coworker found some absolutely adorable kittens and needs to give them away. I mean, SO cute. Big blue eyes, gray and white fur. Absolutely adorable. And Spyboy has promised to pay for the shots and I found a place in DC that will spay/neuter cats for free. The only foreseeable problem is having a kitten in a studio. That and I looked on a website for how to kitten-proof your apartment and there is SO much I hadn't thought about. Like floss being dangerous. Or cats apparently being deathly allergic to like 18 common plants, including most lillies. Or cats being able to fit into tiny spaces and get stuck. What can I do to keep my kitten from climbing behind my stove?! I can't keep it out of the kitchen; I have no door... I have the feeling that I may be overthinking these things. Afterall, many people have managed to have a kitten and not kill it accidentally. and then I would have a kitten to snuggle with... Though I've already warned Spyboy that he might get jealous of a kitten. I mean, he already claims to be jealous of my teddy bear and body pillow...

New depths: The Condom in the Urinal Story

Well, yesterday the 20's and 30's group at church reached a new low. See, every Sunday we all go to lunch after the service. It's a fun group, nobody's too uptight. In the past, we have had some racy discussions. The discussion about the stretch hummer, for example, and other ways one might interpret that phrase. Yesterday, though, we declared a new low. See, one of the guys decided to bring up a story from his latest trip to Russia. It wasn't the greatest story, or the dirtiest. Basically what happened was that he went to Russia and was in a busy restroom. I mean, line-out-the-door busy. He looks down, there is a condom in the urinal. Basically, end of story. But no. Our group decides to discuss the story. To think about various possible scenarios. The storyteller's favorite option was stockroom action. One girl mentioned that maybe the guy had just forgotten to take it off "at the appropriate moment," so he went to go to the bathroom, pulled it out, and pulled the condom off. We all got a chuckle off of that one. We talked about the gay scenarios (if it was a bathroom hook-up, why wasn't it in a stall?), the busy-ness of the bathroom was mentioned several times, the conversation basically went on for way too long. My favorite moment, though, was when one girl was trying to think of innocent, non-dirty ways the condom got there. She got as far as, "See, maybe this guy was making balloon animals," before I started snickering. "And he just wanted to show off his talent and no one really carries around balloons with them in their back pocket..." It was a valient effort. And it failed miserably.

She also talked about using condoms as water balloons, which of course reminded me of the time Peggy, Emily, me, and Whitney filled condoms with water and then walked around like we had penises. It was strange, but entertaining. Which basically sums up my dorm in college.

It's been a rough week.

Thank God it's Friday. And I'm not saying that in some cheesy way. I'm saying that because I desperately need this weekend to be here.

So, since I am tired and stressed, I'm merely going to reminesce. Though, as a sidenote, I am very proud of myself. All the stress doesn't seem to have had too many physical effects. So screw you and your meds, doctor!

The other day at work, we were talking about soccer and sports and, eventually, ultimate frisbee. Which reminded me of my ultimate days in college. Not that I was very good or hardcore or anything, but still. See, there was a big field next to my dorm and every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, people met to play. Some of the people were really good. Some of them were really intent upon winning. I didn't like those people. Some of the people were really good, but recognized that some of the other people there weren't. Those were the ones who tried to help you improve. I remember one guy telling me that I needed to yell more for the frisbee when I was open. I nodded, but I was really thinking, "Then they'll throw it to me. And none of us want that." My dorm had a big contigent out there and one of my friends who lived on the first floor eventually badgered me until I came. Well, I had one, unmentionable, other reason, but we'll not go into that. It was just a lot of fun. I didn't really do much besides run up and down the field, and I felt horribly out of place. But the people were, for the most part, really nice. And there is nothing better than being outside, playing a game at the time of year where it's either just warming up or just cooling down. The air is all crisp and it just feels good to be outside. I did like that, while I felt rather schlubby all the time, there were positive comments about me. Or at least my ass. But hey. I'll take what I can get. Adn there was this one time where I made a sweet block. The frisbee was all flyign by me and I was like, "Hell, no, frisbee! The ground is your home!" And slammed it down. Like the highlight of the whole time I played.

This other time, guys turned the wet ground into a slip and slide. I kept waiting for them to hit a rock. Sadly, they didn't. It was funny, though. I miss those times.

One of the best parts, though, was coming back to the dorm afterwards. It was after midnight, you were all warn out. You'd take a shower and just feel that physical exhaustion that only comes from spending a long time outside, running around.

Mixed bag

So I was officially informed of my coworker's departure today. In a staff meeting. Everyone else gets a private meeting, but I just get it tossed at me? Apparently, I don't merit a private meeting. I am supposed to be picking up a few new, undefined responsibilities, but who knows. I did find a new perfect job that I am so going to apply for. I'm excited.

It is ridiculously hot out there right now. It reminds me of my first time in the Philippines. We got off the plane and it was just brutal. Like a wet blanket. I remember thinking that, actually. Pretty precocious for a 6-year-old.

Anyways, something has been bothering me for the past six months or so and work brought it up again today. There have been all these organizations trying to encourage more girls to stay interested in math and science. Which is a good thing. But they completely ignore every other aspect of life and education. Not necessarily the programs themselves, but their pr. That bothers me. Especially since more and more businesses are saying that people don't know how to communicate and that this is a major problem. And some of these commercials are written in such a way that it sounds like only scientists and math majors can be successful. Hello? As an English graduate, this obviously bothers me. Not that I can prove them wrong at this stage in life, but still. Not relevant. By all means, girls, be scientists. Do whatever makes you happy. But if you make some huge discovery and can't communicate it, what will you have gained?

Also, grammar nazis will take over the world.

Broken promises

Well, I promised myself that I wouldn't talk about my job on here, since it seems that it can be a bit dangerous. I don't care anymore. My supervisors are just being completely ridiculous. And if you read this, hello! You are being ridiculous!! See, what mainly started the whole souring of the office atmosphere was one person. She felt frustrated with her work, the office's supposed views, and the many hypocrisies that are hidden in our actual policies. She decided that she didn't need any of this; she'd had enough. So she decided to resign. Now remember, this is a single digit office. We don't have that many people. And we like to chat. So when both higher level people were out of the office, she talked about it a lot. We knew what she was thinking, what she was going through. In doing so, she brought out the frustration hidden inside of us. Or at least me. She turned in her letter of resignation over a week ago. They still have not told me. I think they expect me not to know. They just told my other coworker Friday. And the thing is, it's not like we have people ready and waiting to do the person's work. We all have to rebalance it. She leaves in two weeks. And they actually think I don't know?! Give me a break.

Sometimes it seems like every time I start getting things figured out, start getting my feet back under me, something else (or 19 something elses) come and knock me over again.

Anyways, my solo debut at my current church went relatively well. Relatively well in that it wasn't amazing, but not bad either. People enjoyed it. The sheer number of choir members who came up to me afterwards and said, "where have you been hiding that voice?" was a bit of a surprise. Since I think every other choir I have ever been a part of has known my voice pretty well. I'm not a quiet choir member. I try to blend, really, I do. But if a director's asking for more second soprano, I'm going to sing louder! Well, apparently I have not been singing loud enough. I blame not singing seriously for a couple of years. My voice is ridiculously weak, my range has shrunk, voice quality gone down. Sigh. The prime of my voice and I'm wasting it. Makes me a bit sad.

My dad came up to listen to me sing, which was nice of him. And he bought me stuff for bike-riding, so maybe I'll actually take my bike out of my closet. Bike, come out of the closet! We went to see Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, which was highly entertaining. I spent a good portion of it giggling. Though, two main complaints. One. Could they have the top of Kiera's dress ANY closer to her nipples? It was close to being another "wardrobe malfuction." Only the wardrobe wouldn't be malfuctioning, it would just be succumbing to gravity. Two. Not nearly enough topless men. There was one scene where Orlando Bloom's shirt was ripped off and you could see his lovely back. It was very nice and I don't really care that much about Orlando Bloom. Especially in any non-Legolas roles... Other than that, the main irritants were the other people in the theater. Someone's cell phone rang. Twice. Someone brought a 3-year-old who was relatively good for a kid that age. Meaning he screamed several times, cried several times, and got fidgety not too far into the movie. It was crowded. I hate people. But pretty good movie. I'd recommend it.

Zach Braff, you can do better!

My coworker just informed me that Perez Hilton is reporting that Zach Braff is dating Jessica Simpson. Are you freaking kidding me?! Zach is young, cute, intelligent, quirky, AND funny, and he wants to date Jessica Simpson?! I say it again. Zach, you can do better! Mandy Moore was better and I still have yet to forgive her for A Walk to Remember. Seriously, Mandy. I want my two and a half hours back. And the brain cells that committed suicide to avoid the monotony that was that movie. I could probably use those back as well. Either way, Zach, you are majorly disappointing me. I mean, I know that air-heads are now hip and in in Hollywood. But fight the trend and go for someone who can actually have a conversation with you.

In other news, I am apparently living inside The Devil Wears Prada. Not that my boss is evil... just... frustrating. We'll leave it at that.

I'm a bitch...

What can I say, I'm on a big song kick lately. Why songs pop into my head everytime I come up with a title, I'm not sure. I guess it fits my little description, though.

And the song is particularly apt this week. I don't know why, but I've been so cranky lately. And no, it's not hormonal. I'm just cranky. People annoy me and I'm tired of them. Brent got to be the first who had to experience this, just because I see him the most and am the most comfortable with him. Next, it's my fellow commuters. They'd better watch out, too. I'm about done with having them shove their way in front of me. Not that I'm much better, though I try not to be rude. But people, come on. It is NOT necessary to try and shove your way to the door a whole minute before the metro gets to the stop. You're just forcing everyone off balance. The only time it might be necessary is when it's really crowded and that's when people have no where to go. So you're all like, "excuse me, I need to get through." Meanwhile, I'm hanging on to a pole by a finger, with one guy's bag in my need, a single inch of extra space for my feet, an elbow in my back, trying not to smoosh or hit someone with my stuff. You can damn well wait until the train stops, and moving will not either cause me to fall over or to hit someone. Of course, these people trying to get out way too early would be helped if people would actually move out of the doorway to let other people off. It's ridiculous. Someday I'm going to come into work and it's going to be because I got in a brawl on the metro.

The next people to face my wrath are those on the internet. There are just so many snotty people who think they are more intelligent than everyone else. God help you if you disagree with them. Well, you know what people. There will ALWAYS be someone more intelligent than you. And there is always the possibility that they might disagree with your opinion or that, horror of horrors, you might be wrong. Welcome to the real world. Grow up and deal with it.

Strangely, I'm not actually in a bad mood. Just... aggrieved and irritable.

I can see clearly now the rain is gone.

It's so nice not to have 100% humidity. I was a little disappointed, though, that I had to go to work. I was kind of hoping the Potomac would flood and I wouldn't have to. Not very nice, I guess, when you consider that the magnitude of the flood would cause hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage and destroy the homes of many people without flood insurance. I would feel bad for them, really I would. I'd just rather sleep in. Plus, it didn't happen, so it's all good. Except that I'm still tired.

I was just thinking about how on top of things I'd been and then I realized I forgot to reschedule a meeting. Oh well. I'll do it tomorrow. Also, I hate InDesign. I know that there are all these supposed benefits. I say they're crap, because all I want to do is move stuff or recolor stuff and I can't. Susan and I literally spent 2 hours one day trying to crop a foot. Trying to crop, people! Of course, I know now that you can't crop because you have these stupid anchor points defining the image and you can only move the anchor points around to change stuff. Knowing more does not mean I like it more. Because I don't. It's still crap.

It's raining men, hallelujah!

Yeah, Bridget Jones was on the other night. I made Spyboy watch it. Well, at least the second half. It came on again later, but I let him switch over to Iron Chef. I mean, I did get to see my favorite scene, where Hugh Grant and Colin Firth go flying through the window while "It's Raining Men" plays in the background. I just love it.

This rain, though? Not loving it so much. We won't even get into the horrors of the commute yesterday. Though I may have been a bit snotty to Spyboy because of it. But here's the scenario. He calls while I'm waiting for my bus and says, "hey, let's just meet at Pentagon City for dinner." I figure I can just jump on a 16 bus from the Pentagon, get off a block away, have a short little walk, and it'll be good. But I panicked and got off a little early and had to walk several blocks. While I'm walking, Spyboy calls me, wondering where I was. So I answer, tell him. Meanwhile, I get to an intersection consisting of a four-lane road and the off/on-ramps for 395, which are six-lanes wide. There is no pedestrian crosswalk sign. There is no crosswalk. I can't cross over the other way any easier. So I get half way across, Spyboy still talking. I can't look left (I hurt my neck and can only turn one way). It's raining. I've got my umbrella up, further impeding visibility. Cars are speeding off the interstate towards me. I'm crossing with the light, but you've still got the people turning right out to kill me. Plus it's humid as all get out and I can feel the sweat dripping. It was just gross. And I'm still on the phone with Spyboy. As soon as I heard the words, "I don't feel well. It's just too hot out," from the boy whose outside time consists of walking to and from his car AND who did not have a hellish commute into the city that morning, I snapped a bit. And kind of hung up on him, with a bit of a warning. Hey. I never claimed to be a nice or sympathetic girlfriend...

Along those lines, Susan has declared that I should rename this blog "Bitchfest," in honor of all my stories about Spyboy. I find that a bit amusing. And it makes me feel a tad bit guilty. Oh, well. All the stories are true. Though, in his defense, Spyboy did give me neckrubs, take out the recycling, unload half the dishwasher, and cook a frozen dinner for me on Sunday. It was sweet. He then declared that I was not allowed to be mad at him last night (which I wasn't) because of his good deeds the night before.

I'm back...

I've discovered a problem with this whole blogging thing. Mainly, I'm lazy. If I don't have tons of stuff to do, I don't want to do much of anything. The main reason Spyboy and I leave my apartment on some weekends is because there is no food in my apartment. And watching the Food Network is absolute torture when you are starving.

See, before I left, I was getting stuff that I needed done at work. Well, kind of. We all slowed down a bit after our mass chaos. Then I went home. Which was amazing. I LOVE my parents' new house. It feels so European. There is a fountain in the front and a lake in the back and many, many decks. It was so quiet and peaceful. It was disappointing, though, because Friday night I was supposed to see my old choir director do a jazz performance at this big band thing in Chattanooga. He, however, got really sick and cancelled. I did get to see a great band, Yo Momma's Big Fat Booty Band. This band is honestly one of the strangest collections of people I have ever seen in a band. I mean, there is the lead singer, who is this skinny black man wearing one of those head tie things that is so long it looks like a cape. There is the nerdy white boy who plays the sax and somehow makes you think that his girlfriend must be a very lucky girl and who occasionally says something in an insanely low voice. There is the crazy white guy, who was wearing multi-colored, knee-high Big Bird socks, a tilted huge hat, and bright orange shorts. There were the two cool black guys, and the one cool white guy. Then, randomly, belly dancers who were a part of the previous band jump on stage adn start belly dancing. Meanwhile, there is a redneck with a mullet jamming with all the hippies at the front of the stage. And one of the girls at the front dancing like they were on drugs HAD to have been double-jointed. I've never seen someone's shoulder move like that! It was bizarre. The whole thing was bizarre. But it reminded me of one of the better parts of the south. People might be hicks, they might not be the most cultured or best educated, they might be high, but they are going to be themselves fully and enjoy it no matter what other people think. And I can respect that.

The rest of the stay at home was pretty uneventful. Saw some friends, ate some food, did lots of sudoku. Which is seriously addictive. My whole family is now addicted. My mom is pushing grad school. I was thinking of trying to become a Rhodes Scholar and going back to Oxford. The thought kind of scares me, but in an exciting way. I mean, I loved Oxford and I loved being challenged. But it was hard being in another country. You can say that America and Britain are similar, and they are, but just up to a point. There is definite culture shock. I was so emotionally tired when I got back. How would I feel after two years? And what if the work is too hard for me? But it's such a great opportunity and it's one that I have to try for now, considering there is an age limit. I keep going back and forth. Plus Spyboy won't tell me how he feels about it. I know he wouldn't be excited about me leaving for that long, but I asked him what he thought would happen to us if I left, and his answer was just "I don't know." Not exactly comforting. I think I've decided to go ahead and apply, though, and worry about the rest when (if) I get accepted. I mean, they only take like 30 people total.